LIEUT- FREDERIC 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

THE  PETER  AND  ROSELL  HARVEY 

MEMORIAL  FUND 


A  WEST  POINT  TREASURE 


"The  cadets    were    fairly  wild.     They    sto.iped    and    ga/ed   at   the 
treasure  greedily.' 

(See  page  82) 


A  WEST  POINT 
TREASURE 


OR 


MARK  MALLORY'S 
STRANGE    FIND 


BY 


LIEUT.  FREDERICK  GARRISON,  U.  S.  A., 

AUTHOR  OF 

"Off  for  West  Point,"  "A  Cadet's  Honor," 
"  On  Guard,"  etc. 


PHILADELPHIA 

DAVID    McKAY,    PUBLISHER 

610  SOUTH  WASHINGTON  SQUARE 


Copyright,  1903 
By  STREET  &  SMITH 


A  West  Point  Treasure 


CONTENTS 


I— An  Interesting  Letter 7 

II— What  a  Walk  Led  To       .        .        .        .         17 
III-— Mysteries  Galore  .        .        .        .  .23 

IV — A  Horrible  Discovery        .        ...        33 

V— A  Joke  on  the  Parson 44 

VI — Stanard's  Defiance 53 

VII— Stanard's  Strange  Visitor  ....  60 
VIII— An  Unexpected  Result  ....  72 

IX — Discovery  of  the  Loss 84 

X — Discovery  of  the  Thief      ....        93 

XI — Stealing  from  Thieves 102 

XII — Seven  Burglars  in  a  Scrape  .  .  .  112 
XIII— Watching  the  Treasure  .  .  .  .119 
XIV— The  Seven  in  a  Trap  .  .  .  .127 

XV — Buying  Their  Release 135 

XVI — Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward  .        .        .144 

XVII— The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move     .        .        .154 

XVIII— The  Capture  of  Mark  .       166 

XIX — Torture  of  the  Yearlings       .        .        .        .180 


CONTENTS 


XX— A  New  Venture  .        .       .       v        .      188 
XXI — Mark  Comes  to  Town    .        •       •        .196 

XXII— Burglar  Hunting 307 

XXIII — Chauncey  Has  an  Idea    ....  219 

XXIV— Back  Again 232 

XXV— A  Challenge 238 

XXVI— "I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward"      248 

XXVII— Mark,  the  Coward  .        .        .  t     .        ,257 

XX  VIII— A  Test  of  Courage       .        .        .        .      266 

XXIX— The  Fruits  of  Victory     ,       .       •       .  277 


A  WEST  POINT  TREASURE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

AN    INTERESTING   LETTER. 

"Hey,  there,  you  fellows,  I've  got  a  letter  to  read  to 
you." 

He  was  a  tall,  handsome  lad,  with  a  frank,  pleasant 
face,  and  a  wealth  of  curly  brown  hair.  He  wore  a  close- 
fitting  gray  jacket  and  trousers.  The  uniform  of  a  West 
Point  "plebe,"  as  the  new  cadet  is  termed.  He  was  stand- 
ing in  front  of  one  of  the  tents  in  the  summer  camp  of  the 
corps,  and  speaking  to  half  a  dozen  of  his  classmates. 

The  six  looked  up  with  interest  when  they  heard  what 
he  said. 

"Come  in,  Mark,"  called  one  of  them.  "Come  in  here 
and  read  it." 

"This  is  addressed  to  me,"  began  Mark  Mallory,  obey- 
ing the  request  and  sitting  down.  "But  it's  really  meant 
for  the  whole  seven  of  us.  And  it's  interesting,  as  show- 


8  An  Interesting  Letter. 

ing  what  the  old  cadets  think  of  the  tricks  we  bold  plebes 
have  been  playing  on  them." 

"Who's  it  from?" 

"It's  from  Wicks  Merritt,  the  second  classman  I  met 
here  last  year.  He's  home  on  furlough  for  the  summer, 
but  some  of  the  other  cadets  have  written  and  told  him 
about  us,  and  what  we've  been  doing.  And  this  is  what 
he  says  about  it.  Listen. 

"DEAR  MARK  :  Whenever  I  sit  down  to  write  to  you  it 
seems  to  me  I  can  think  of  nothing  to  say,  but  to  marvel 
at  the  extraordinary  rumpus  you  have  kicked  up  at  West 
Point.  Every  time  I  hear  from  there  you  are  doing  still 
more  incredibly  impossible  acts,  until  I  expect  to  hear  next 
that  you  have  been  made  superintendent  or  something. 
However,  in  this  letter  I  really  have  something  else  to 
tell  you  about,  but  I  shall  put  it  off  to  the  last  and  keep 
you  in  suspense. 

"Well,  I  hear  that,  not  satisfied  with  defying  the  year- 
lings to  haze  you,  and  actually  keeping  them  from  doing 
it,  which  is  something  no  plebe  has  ever  dared  to  dream 
of  before,  you  have  gone  on  to  still  further  recklessness. 
They  say  that  you  have  gotten  half  a  dozen  other  plebes  to 
back  you  up,  and  that,  to  cap  the  climax,  you  actually 
dared  to  go  to  one  of  the  hops.  Well,  I  do  not  know 
what  to  say  to  that ;  it  simply  takes  my  breath  away.  I 
should  like  to  have  been  there  to  see  him  doing  it.  They 
say  that  Grace  Fuller,  the  girl  you  saveji  from  drowning, 
got  all  the  girls  to  promise  to  dance  with  you,  and  that  the 
end  of  the  whole  business  was  the  yearlings  stopped  the 


An  Interesting  Letter.  9 

music  and  the  hop  and  left  in  disgust.    I  fairly  gasp  when 
I  picture  that  scene. 

"I  hesitate  to  give  an  original  person  like  you  advice. 
You  never  heeded  what  I  gave  you  anyway,  but  went 
1  right  ahead  in  your  own  contrariness  to  do  what  you 
pleased.  I  guess  you  were  right.  But  I  want  to  warn 
you  a  little.  By  your  unheard-of  daring  in  going  to  that 
hop  you  have  incurred  the  enmity  of  not  only  the  year- 
lings, whom  you  have  beaten  at  every  turn,  but  also  of  the 
powerful  first  class  as  well.  And  they  will  never  stop 
until  they  subdue  you.  I  don't  know  what  they'll  try,  but 
it  will  be  something  desperate,  and  you  must  stand  the 
consequences.  You'll  probably  have  to  take  turns  fight- 
ing every  man  in  the  class.  When  I  come  back  I  expect 
to  find  you  buried  six  feet  deep  in  court-plaster." 

Mark  looked  up  from  the  letter  for  a  moment,  and 
smiled. 

"I  wish  the  dear  old  chump  could  see  me  now,"  he  said. 

Wicks'  prediction  seemed  nearly  fulfilled.  Mark's  face 
was  bruised  and  bandaged ;  one  shoulder  was  still  immov- 
able from  a  dislocation,  and  when  he  moved  any  other 
part  of  himself  he  did  it  with  a  cautious  slowness  that  told 
of  sundry  aching  joints. 

"Yes,"  growled  one  of  the  six  listeners,  a  lad  from 
Texas,  with  a  curious  cowboy  accent.  "Yes,  hang  it! 
But  I  reckon  Wicks  Merritt  didn't  have  any  idea  them 
ole  cadets 'd  pile  on  to  lick  you  all  together.  I  tell  you 


io  An  Interesting  Letter. 

what,  it  gits  me  riled.  Jes'  because  you  had  the  nerve  to 
defy  'em  and  fight  the  feller  that  ordered  you  off  that  air 
hop  floor,  doggone  'em,  they  all  had  to  pitch  in  and  beat 
you." 

"Never  mind,  Texas,"  laughed  Mark,  cheerfully. 
"They  were  welcome.  I  knocked  out  my  man,  which  was 
what  I  went  out  for.  And  besides,  we  managed  to  outwit 
them  in  the  end,  leaving  them  deserted  and  scared  to  death 
on  the  opposite  shore  of  the  Hudson.  You've  heard  of 
clouds  with  silver  linings.  I'm  off  duty  and  can  play  the 
gentleman  all  day,  and  not  have  to  turn  out  and  drill  like 
you  unfortunate  plebes.  And,  moreover,  nobody  offers  to 
haze  me  any  more  while  I'm  a  cripple." 

"It'd  be  jes'  like  'em  to,"  growled  Texas. 

"That's  got  nothing  to  do  with  the  letter,"  responded 
Mark.  "There  is  some  news  in  here  that'll  interest  you 
fellows,  if  Texas  would  only  stop  growling  at  the  cadets 
long  enough  to  give  me  a  chance.  Too  much  fighting  is 
spoiling  your  gentle  disposition,  Texas." 

"Ya-as,"  grinned  the  Southerner.    "You  jes'  go  on." 

"I  will,"  continued  Mark.    "Listen. 

"I  got  a  letter  from  Fischer  yesterday.  Fischer  is  cap- 
tain of  your  company,  I  think.  He  tells  me  that  that  ras- 


An  Interesting  Letter.  n 

cally  Benny  Bartlett,  the  fellow  from  your  town  who  tried 
to  cheat  you  out  of  your  appointment,  but  whom  you  beat 
at  the  examinations,  turned  up  a  short  while  ago  with  a 
brand-new  plot  to  get  you  into  trouble.  It  reads  like  a 
fairy  story,  what  Fischer  told  me.  He  had  a  printer's  boy 
1  hired  to  accuse  you  of  bribing  him  to  steal  for  you  the 
exam,  papers.  The  superintendent  believed  him  and  you 
were  almost  fired. 

"Fischer  says  he  went  out  at  night  with  that  wild  chum 
of  yours,  Texas,  and  the  two  of  them  held  up  the  printer's 
boy  and  robbed  him  of  some  papers  that  showed  his  guilt. 
Well,  Mr.  Mallory,  I  certainly  congratulate  you  on  your 
luck.  You  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  Fischer,  who  ought 
to  be  your  enemy  really,  since  he  was  one  of  the  hop 
managers  you  riled  so. 

"And  now  for  the  news  I  have.  I  write  to  tell  you- -- 
and  I  know  it  will  surprise  you — that  you  are  not  yet 
through  with  that  troublesome  Master  Bartlett." 

"Wow!"  echoed  Texas,  springing  up  in  surprise. 
"What  does  he  know  'bout  it?" 

"Wait,"  laughed  Mark,  by  way  of  answer.  "Wait,  and 
you'll  see.  Wicks  is  quite  a  detective. 

"As  you'll  notice  by  the  postmark  of  this  letter,  I  am 
in  Washington,  D.  C.,  at  present.  And  what  do  you 
think  ?  I  have  met  Benny  Bartlett  here ! 

"I  can  hear  you  gasp  when  you  read  that.  I  knew 
him,  but  he  didn't  know  me,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
have  some  fun  with  him.  I  picked  up  an  acquaintance 
with  him,  and  told  him  I  was  from  West  Point.  Then 
he  got  intimate  and  confidential,  said  he  knew  a  con- 


12  An  Interesting  Letter. 

founded  fresh  plebe  up  there — Mallory,  they  called  him. 
Well,  I  said  I'd  heard  of  Mallory.  And,  Mark,  I  nearly 
had  him  wild. 

"In  the  first  place,  you  know,  he  hates  you  like  poison. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  much.  This  paper  wouldn't  hold  all 
the  names  he  called  you.  And,  oh,  what  lies  he  did  tell 
about  you !  So  I  thought  to  tease  him  I'd  take  the  other 
tack.  I  told  him  of  all  your  heroism,  how  you'd  saved  the 
life  of  the  daughter  of  a  rich  old  judge  up  there,  and  were 
engaged  to  marry  her  some  day.  I  threw  that  in  for  good 
measure,  though  they  say  it  is  a  desperate  case  between 
you  and  her — upon  which  I  congratulate  you,  for  she's  a 


"I  wonder  what  he'd  say,"  put  in  one  of  the  six,  "if  he 
knew  she'd  joined  the  Banded  Seven  to  help  fool  the 
yearlings  ?" 

"I  told  him,"  continued  Mark,  reading,  "all  about  how 
you'd  prevented  hazing  and  were  literally  running  the 
place.  Then  I  showed  him  Fischer's  letter  to  cap  the 
climax.  And,  Mark,  the  kid  was  crazy.  He  vowed  he 
was  coming  up  there  to  balk  you,  if  it  was  the  last  thing 
he  ever  did  on  earth. 

"His  father  has  a  big  pull  with  the  President,  and  is 
using  it  with  a  vengeance.  He  pleads  that  his  son  did 
magnificently  at  the  congressman's  exams,  and  only  failed 
at  the  others  because  he  was  ill.  And  so  Benny  expects 
to  turn  up  to  annoy  you  as  one  of  the  plebes  who  come  in 
when  camp  breaks  up  on  the  28th  of  August. 

"Having  warned  you  of  this  disagreeable  possibility 
nothing  now  remains  for  me  to  do  but  wish  you  the  best 


An  Interesting  Letter.  13 

possible  luck  in  your  quarrel  with  the  first  class,  and  so 
sign  myself,  Sincerely  yours, 

"WICKS  MERRITT." 


The  Seven  stared  at  each  other  as  Mark  folded  up  the 
letter. 

"Fellows,"  said  he,  "we've  got  just  one  month  to  wait, 
just  one  month.  Then  that  contemptible  fellow  will  be 
here  to  bother  us.  But  in  the  meantime  I  say  we  forget 
about  him.  He's  unpleasant  to  think  about.  Let's  not 
mention  him  again  until  we  see  him." 

And  the  Parson  echoed,  "Yea,  by  Zeus." 

The  Parson  was  just  the  same  old  parson  he  was  the 
day  he  first  struck  West  Point.  Frequent  hazings  had  not 
robbed  him  of  his  quiet  and  classic  dignity ;  and  still  more 
frequent  battles  with  "the  enemy"  had  not  made  him  a 
whit  less  learned  and  studious.  He  was  from  Boston, 
was  Parson  Stanard,  and  he  was  proud  of  it.  Also,  he 
was  a  geologist  of  erudition  most  astoundingly  deep.  He 
had  a  bag  of  most  wonderful  fossils  hidden  away  in  his 
tent,  fossils  with  names  as  long  as  the  Parson's  venerable 
and  bony  legs  in  their  pale  green  socks 

The  Parson  was  not  wholly  devoted  to  fossils,  for  he 
was  member  No.  3  in  our  Banded  Seven,  of  which  Mark 


14  An  Interesting  Letter. 

was  the  leader.  No.  4  was  "Indian,"  the  fat  and  gullible 
and  much  hazed  Joe  Smith,  of  Indianapolis.  After  him 
came  the  merry  and  handsome  Dewey,  otherwise  known 
as  "B'gee !"  the  prize  story-teller  of  the  crowd.  Chauncey, 
surnamed  "the  dude,"  and  Sleepy,  "the  farmer,"  made  up 
the  rest  of  that  bold  and  valiant  band  which  was  no- 
torious for  its  "B.  J.-ness."  (B.  J.,  before  June,  means 
freshness.) 

Master  Benjamin  Bartlett  having  been  laid  on  the  shelf 
for  a  month,  the  Seven  cast  about  them  for  a  new  subject  of 
conversation  to  while  away  the  half  hour  of  "recreation" 
allotted  to  them  between  the  morning's  drill  and  dinner. 

"I  want  to  know,"  suggested  Dewey,  "what  shall  we  do 
this  afternoon,  b'gee?" 

That  afternoon  was  Saturday  ("the  first  Saturday  we've 
had  for  a  week,"  as  Dewey  sagely  informed  them,  whereat 
Indian  cried  out :  "Of  course !  Bless  my  soul !  How  could 
it  be  otherwise?")  Saturday  is  a  half  holiday  for  the 
cadets. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mark.  "I  hardly  think  the  year- 
lings'll  try  any  hazing  to-day.  They're  waiting  to  see 
what  the  first  class'll  do  when  I  get  well  enough  to  fight 
them." 


An  Interesting  Letter.  15 

The  Parson  arose  to  his  feet  with  dignity. 

"It  is  my  purpose,"  he  said,  with  grave  decision,  "to  un- 
dertake an  excursion  into  the  mountainous  country  in 
back  of  us,  particularly  to  the  portion  known  as  the  habi- 
tation of  the  Corous  Americanus " 

"The  habitation  of  the  what  ?" 

"Of  the  Corous  Americanus.  You  have  probably  heard 
the  mountain  spoken  of  as  'Crow's  Nest/  but  I  prefer  the 
other  more  scientific  and  accurate  name,  since  there  are 
in  America  numerous  species  of  crows,  some  forty-seven 
in  all,  I  believe." 

The  six  sighed. 

"It  is  my  purpose,"  continued  the  Parson,  blinking  sol- 
emnly as  any  wise  old  owl,  "to  admire  the  beauties  of  the 
scenery,  and  also  to  conduct  a  little  cursory  geological  in- 
vestigation in  order  to " 

"Say,"  interrupted  Texas. 

"Well?"  inquired  the  Parson. 

"D'you  mean  you're  a-goin'  to  take  a  walk  ?" 

"Er-— yes,"  said  the  Parson,  "that  is " 

"Let's  all  go,"  interrupted  Texas.  "I'd  like  to  see 
some  o'  that  there  geologizin'  o*  yourn." 


16  An  Interesting  Letter. 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  extend  you  an  invitation,"  said 
the  other,  cordially. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  the  Banded  Seven  took  a 
walk  back  in  the  mountains  that  Saturday  afternoon. 
That  walk  was  the  most  momentous  walk  that  those  lads 
ever  had  occasion  to  take. 


CHAPTER   II. 

WHAT  A   WALK  LED  TO. 

It  was  a  strangely  accoutered  cavalcade  that  set  out 
from  this  West  Point  camp  an  hour  or  so  later.  The 
Parson,  as  guide  and  temporary  chief,  led  the  way,  having 
his  beloved  "Dana's  Geology"  under  his  arms,  and  bear- 
ing in  one  hand  an  ' 'astrology"  hammer  (as  Texas  termed 
it),  in  the  other  a  capacious  bag  in  which  he  purposed  to 
carry  any  interesting  specimens  he  chanced  to  find.  The 
Parson  had  brought  with  him  to  West  Point  his  pro- 
fessional coat,  with  huge  pockets  for  that  purpose,  but 
being  a  cadet  he  was  not  allowed  to  wear  it. 

Chauncey  and  Indian  brought  up  the  rear.  Chauncey 
was  picking  his  way  delicately  along,  fearful  of  spoiling 
a  beautiful  new  shine  he  had  just  had  put  on.  And  In- 
dian was  in  mortal  terror  lest  some  of  the  ghosts,  bears, 
tramps  or  snakes  which  the  yearlings  had  assured  him 
filled  the  woods,  should  spring  out  upon  his  fat,  perspiring 
little  self. 

The  government  property  at  West  Point  extends  for 
some  four  miles  up  the  Hudson,  and  quite  a  distance  into 


i8  What  a  Walk  Led  To. 

the  wild  mountains  to  the  rear.  The  government  prop- 
erty is  equivalent  to  "cadet  limits,"  and  so  the  woods  are 
freely  roamed  by  the  venturesome  lads  on  holiday  after- 
noons. 

The  Parson  was  never  more  thoroughly  in  his  element 
than  he  was  just  then.  He  was  a  learned  professor,  es- 
corting a  group  of  patient  and  willing  pupils.  The  infor- 
mation which  he  gave  out  in  solid  chunks  that  afternoon 
would  have  filled  an  encyclopaedia.  A  dozen  times  every 
hour  he  would  stop  and  hold  forth  upon  some  newly  ob- 
served object. 

But  it  was  when  on  geology  that  the  Parson  was  at 
home.  He  might  dabble  in  all  sciences;  in  fact,  he  con- 
sidered it  the  duty  of  a  scholar  to  do  so ;  but  geology  was 
his  specialty,  his  own,  his  pet  and  paragon.  And  never 
did  he  wax  so  eloquently  as  when  he  was  talking  of 
geology,  "That  science  which  unravels  the  mysteries  of 
ages,  that  reads  in  the  rocks  of  the  present  the  silent 
stories  of  the  years  that  are  dead." 

"Behold  yon  towering  precipice,"  he  cried,  "with  its 
crevices  torn  by  the  winter's  snows  and  rains!  Gentle- 
men, I  suppose  you  know  that  the  substances  which  we 
call  earth  and  sand  are  but  the  result  of  the  ceaseless  ac- 


What  a  Walk  Led  To.  19 

tion  of  water,  which  tore  it  from  the  mountains  and 
ground  it  into  the  ever-moving  seas.  It  was  water  that 
carved  the  mountains  from  the  masses  of  ancient  rock, 
and  water  that  cut  the  valleys  that  lead  to  the  sea  below. 
A  wonderful  thing  is  water  to  the  geologist,  a  strange 
thing." 

"It's  a  strange  thing  to  a  Texan,  too,"  observed  the  in- 
corrigible cowboy,  making  a  sound  like  a  popping  cork. 

"This  cliff,  all  covered  with  vegetation,"  continued  the 
Parson,  gazing  up  into  the  air,  "has  a  story  to  tell  also. 
See  that  scar  running  across  its  surface?  In  the  glacial 
era,  when  this  valley  was  a  mass  of  grinding,  sliding  ice, 
some  great  stone  caught  in  the  mass  plowed  that  furrow 
which  you  see.  And  perhaps  hundreds  of  miles  below 
here  I  might  find  the  stone  that  would  fit  that  mark. 
That  has  been  done  by  many  a  patient  scientist." 

The  six  were  staring  at  the  cliff  in  open-mouthed  in- 
terest. 

"In  the  post-tertiary  periods,"  continued  the  lecturer, 
"this  Hudson  Valley  was  an  inland  sea.  By  that  line  of 
colored  rock,  denoting  the  top  of  the  strata,  I  can  tell 
what  was  the  level  of  that  body  of  water.  The  storms  of 
that  period  did  great  havoc  among  the  rocks.  This  cliff 


20  What  a  Walk  Led  To. 

may  have  been  torn  and  burrowed ;  I  know  of  some  that 
had  great  caves  and  passageways  worn  in  them." 

The  six  were  still  staring. 

"We  find  many  wonderful  fossils  in  such  rock.  The 
seas  then  were  inhabitated  by  many  gigantic  animals, 
whose  skeletons  we  find,  completely  buried  in  stone.  I 
have  the  foot  of  a  Megatherium,  the  foot  being  about  as 
broad  as  my  arm  is  long,  found  in  some  shistose  quartz 
of  this  period.  If  you  will  excuse  me  for  but  a  few  mo- 
ments I  should  like  to  examine  the  fragments  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  cliff  and  see " 

"I  think  I  see  a  foot  there !"  cried  Mark,  excitedly. 

"Where?"  demanded  the  Parson,  no  less  so,  his  eyes 
flashing  with  professional  zeal. 

"It's  the  foot  of  the  cliff,"  responded  Mark.  "Do  you 
see  it?" 

The  Parson  turned  away  with  a  grieved  look  and  fell 
to  chipping  at  the  rock.  The  rest  roared  with  laughter, 
for  which  the  geologist  saw  no  cause. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he  at  last,  "allow  me  to  remind  you 
of  a  line  from  Goldsmith's  "Deserted  Village" : 

"  'And  the  loud  laugh  that  shows  the  empty  mind.' " 

Whereupon    Dewey    muttered    an    excited    "B'gee." 


What  a  Walk  Led  To.  21 

Dewey  had  been  so  awed  by  his  companion's  learning  that 
he  hadn't  told  a  story  for  an  hour;  but  here  the  tempta- 
tion was  too  great. 

"B'gee !"  he  cried.  "That  reminds  me  of  a  story  I  once 
heard.  There  was  a  fellow  had  a  girl  by  the  name  of 
Auburn.  He  wanted  to  write  her  a  love  poem,  b'gee,  and 
he  didn't  know  how  to  begin.  That  poem — the  "Deserted 
Village"— begins : 

"  'Sweet  Auburn,  loveliest  village  of  the  plain/ 

"So,  b'gee,  this  fellow  thought  that  would  do  first  rate 
for  a  starter. 

He  wrote  to  her : 

"  'Sweet  Auburn,  loveliest  of  the  plain,'  an'  b'gee,  she 
wouldn't  speak  to  him  for  a  month !" 

Every  one  joined  in  the  laugh  that  followed  except  the 
Parson;  the  Parson  was  still  busily  chipping  rocks  with 
his  "astrology"  hammer. 

"I  find  nothing,"  he  remarked,  hesitatingly.  "But  I 
see  a  most  beautiful  fern  up  in  that  cleft.  It  is  a  rhododen- 
dron, of  the  species I  cannot  see  it  very  clearly." 

"I'll  get  it,"  observed  Texas,  gayly.  "I  want  to  hear  the 
rest  of  that  air  name.  Don't  forget  the  first  part — romeo 
— romeo  what  ?" 


92  What  a  Walk  Led  To. 

While  he  was  talking  Texas  had  laid  hold  of  the  pro- 
jecting cliff,  and  with  a  mighty  effort  swung  himself  up 
on  a  ledge.  Then  he  raised  himself  upon  his  toes  and 
stretched  out  to  get  that  "rhododendron." 

The  Parson,  gazing  up  anxiously,  saw  him  lay  hold 
of  the  plant  to  pull  it  off.  And  then,  to  his  surprise,  he 
heard  the  Texan  give  vent  to  a  surprised  and  excited 
"Wow !" 

" What's  the  matter?"  cried  the  others. 

Texas  was  too  much  interested  to  answer.  They  saw 
him  seize  hold  of  a  bush  that  grew  above  him  and  raise 
himself  up.  Then  he  pushed  aside  the  plants  in  front  of 
him  and  stared  curiously. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  the  rest  again. 

And  Texas  gazed  down  at  them  excitedly. 

"Hi,  you!"  he  roared.    "Fellers,  it's  a  cave!" 

*'A  cave !"  cried  the  others  incredulously. 

By  way  of  answer  Texas  turned,  faced  the  rock  again, 
and  shouted  a  mighty  "Hello !" 

And  to  the  inexpressible  consternation  of  the  crowd  aa 
echo,  loud  and  clear,  responded: 

"Hello!" 

It  was  a  cave. 


CHAPTER   III. 

MYSTERIES    GALORE. 

The  excitement  which  resulted  from  Texas'  amazing 
discovery  may  be  imagined.  If  he  had  found  a  "Mega- 
therium," feet  and  all,  there  could  not  have  been  more  in- 
terest. Texas  was  dragged  down  by  the  legs,  and  then 
there  was  a  wild  scramble  among  the  rest,  the  "invalid" 
excepted,  to  see  who  could  get  up  there  first  and  try  the 
echo. 

The  entrance,  it  seemed,  was  a  narrow  hole  in  the  rock, 
completely  hidden  by  a  growth  of  bushes  and  plants.  And 
the  echo !  What  an  amazing  echo  it  was,  to  be  sure !  Not 
only  did  it  answer  clearly,  but  it  repeated,  and  muttered 
again  and  again.  It  took  parts  of  sentences  and  twisted 
them  about  and  made  the  strangest  possible  combinations 
of  sounds. 

"It  must  be  an  enormous  cave!"  cried  Mark. 

"It  has  probably  fissures  to  a  great  distance,"  observed 
the  geologist.  "The  freaks  of  water  action  are  numer- 
ous." 


34  Mysteries  Galore. 

"I  wonder  if  there's  room  for  a  man  to  get  in,"  Mark 
added. 

"Ef  there  ain't,"  suggested  Texas,  we  kin  force  Indian 
through  to  make  it  bigger." 

Indian  shrank  back  in  horror. 

"Ooo !"  he  cried.  "I  wouldn't  go  near  it  for  a  fortune. 
Bless  my  soul,  there  may  be  bears  or  snakes." 

This  last  suggestion  made  Dewey,  who  was  then  peep- 
ing in,  drop  down  in  a  hurry. 

"B'gee !"  he  gasped.  "I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  And 
who  knows  but  what  a  live  Megatherium  preserved  from 
the  tertiary  periods  may  come  roaring  out?" 

"I  wish  we  had  a  light,"  said  Mark.  "Then  we  might 
look  in  and  see.  I  wonder  if  we  couldn't  burn  that  book 
the  Parson  has?" 

The  Parson  hugged  his  belovedf  "Dana's  Geology"  in 
alarm. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  severely,  "I  would  rather  you 
burned  me  than  this  book." 

"B'gee !"  cried  Dewey.  "You're  most  as  dry !  But  8 
fellow  couldn't  find  a  match  for  you,  Parson,  if  he  hunted 
from  now  till  doomsday." 

Parson  Stanard  turned  away  with  the  grieved  look  he 


Mysteries  Galore.  $5 

always  wore  when  people  got  "frivolous."  But  that  mood 
did  not  last  long ;  they  were  all  too  excited  in  their  strange 
find  to  continue  joking.  They  spent  half  an  hour  after 
that  peering  in  cautiously  and  seeing  nothing  but  black- 
ness. Texas  even  had  the  nerve  to  stick  one  arm  in,  at 
which  the  rest  cried  out  in  horror.  Indian's  direful  hint 
of  snakes  or  bears  had  its  effect. 

It  took  no  small  amount  of  daring  to  fool  about  that 
mysterious  black  hole.  Dewey,  ever  merry  and  teasing, 
was  keeping  them  all  on  pins  and  needles  by  being  Cease- 
lessly reminded  of  grisly  yarns.  He  told  of  a  cave  that 
was  full  of  rattlesnakes,  "assorted  sizes,  all  genuine  and 
no  two  alike,  b'gee  !"  Of  another  that  had  been  a  robber's 
den  with  great  red-faced,  furious,  black  villains  in  it,  to 
say  nothing  of  gleaming  daggers.  Of  another,  with  pit- 
falls, with  water  in  them  and  no  bottom,  "though  why  the 
water  didn't  leak  out  of  where  the  bottom  wasn't,  b'gee, 
I'm  not  able  to  say." 

It  got  to  be  very  monotonous  by  and  by,  standing  about 
in  idleness  and  curiosity,  peeping  and  wondering  what 
was  inside. 

"I  think  it  would  be  a  good  idea  for  some  one  to  go 
in  and  find  out,"  suggested  Mark. 


26  Mysteries  Galore. 

"Bless  my  soul !"  gasped  Indian.    "I  won't,  for  one." 
"And  I  for  two,  b'gee !"  said  Dewey,  with  especial  em- 
phasis. 

The  rest  were  just  as  hasty  to  decline.  One  look  at 
that  black  hole  was  enough  to  deter  any  one.  But  Mark, 
getting  more  and  more  impatient  at  the  delay,  more  and 
more  resolved  to  end  that  mystery,  was  slowly  making  up 
his  mind  that  he  was  not  going  to  be  deterred.  And  sud- 
denly he  stepped  forward. 

"Give  me  a  'boost/  "  he  said.    "I'm  going  in." 
"You!"  echoed  the  six,  in  a  breath.    "Your  arm!" 
"I  don't  care!"  responded  he,  with  decision.    "I'm  go- 
ing to  find  out  what's  inside,  and  I'm  going  to  hurry  up 
about  it,  too." 

"Do  you  mean  you're  going  to  crawl  through  that 
hole?" 

"That's  just  what  I  do,"  he  said. 
Texas  sprang  forward  with  an  excited  look. 
"You  ain't !"  he  cried.    "Cuz  I'm  not  going  to  let  you !" 
And  before  Mark  could  comprehend  what  he  meant  his 
devoted  friend  had  swung  himself  up  to  the  ledge  again, 
and  was  already  halfway  in  through  the  opening. 

The  others  stared  up  at  him  anxiously.    They  saw  the 


Mysteries  Galore.  27 

Southerner's  arms  and  head  vanish,  and  then,  while  they 
waited,  prepared  for  almost  anything  horrible,  they  heard 
an  excited  exclamation.  A  moment  later  the  head  re- 
appeared. 

"Hello!"  cried  Texas.  "Fellers,  there's  a  ladder  in 
thar !" 

"A  ladder!" 

"Yes,  sah !    That's  what  I  said,  a  ladder !    A  rope  one !" 

Once  more  the  head  disappeared;  the  body  followed 
wriggling.  Then  with  startling  suddenness  the  feet  and 
legs  flew  in,  and  an  instant  afterward,  to  the  horror  of 
the  frightened  crowd,  there  was  a  heavy  crash. 

Mark  made  a  leap  for  the  opening. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  cried. 

"Ouch!"  they  heard  the  bold  Texan  growl,  his  voice 
sounding  hollow  and  muffled.  "The  ole  ladder  busted." 

"Ooo!"  gasped  Indian.    "Are  you  dead?" 

Texas  did  not  condescend  to  answer  that. 

"Some  o'  you  fellers  come  in  hyar  now!"  he  roared. 
"I  ain't  a-goin'  to  stay  alone." 

"What's  it  like  in  there?"  inquired  Mark. 

"I  can't  see,"  answered  the  other's  muffled  voice.  "Only 
it's  a  floor  like,  an*,  say,  it's  got  carpet !" 


28  Mysteries  Galore. 

"A  carpet!"  fairly  gasped  those  outside.    "A  carpet!" 
"I'm  going  in  and  see,"  exclaimed  Mark.     "Help  me 
up." 

The  rest  "boosted"  him  with  a  will.  With  his  one  free 
arm  he  managed  to  worm  his  way  through  the  opening, 
and  then  Texas  seized  him  and  pulled  him  through.  After 
that  the  others  followed  with  alacrity.  Even  Indian 
finally  got  up  the  "nerve,"  though  loudly  bemoaning  his 
fate;  he  didn't  want  to  come,  but  it  was  worse  out  there 
all  alone  in  the  woods. 

Coming  in  from  the  brilliant  sunlight  they  were  blind  as 
bats.  They  could  not  detect  the  faintest  shade  of  differ- 
ence in  the  darkness,  and  they  stood  huddled  together 
timidly,  not  even  daring  to  grope  about  them. 

"Let  us  remove  ourselves  further  from  the  light,"  sug- 
gested the  Parson,  ever  learned.  "Then  we  may  get  used 
to  the  darkness,  for  the  retina  of  the  visual  organ  has 
the  power  of  accommodating  itself  to  a  decrease  in  in- 
tensity of  the  illuminating " 

r 

They  prepared  to  obey  the  suggestion,  without  waiting 
for  the  conclusion  of  the  discourse.  But  moving  in  that 
chasm  was  indeed  a  fearful  task.  In  the  first  place,  there 
were  possible  wells,  so  the  Parson  said,  though  the  pres- 


Mysteries  Galore.  39 

ence  of  the  mysterious  carpet  made  that  improbable.  The 
first  thing  Mark  had  done  when  he  reached  bottom  was  to 
stoop  and  verify  his  friend's  amazing  statement.  And  he 
found  that  it  was  just  as  the  other  had  said.  There  was 
carpet,  and  it  was  a  soft,  fine  carpet,  too. 

What  that  could  mean  they  scarcely  dared  to  think. 

"Somebody  must  live  here,"  whispered  Mark.  "And 
they  can  hardly  be  honest  people,  hiding  in  a  place  like 
this." 

That  did  not  tend  to  make  the  moving  about  any  more 
pleasant.  They  caught  hold  of  each  other,  though  there 
was  little  comfort  in  that,  for  each  found  that  his  neigh- 
bors were  trembling  as  much  as  himself.  Then,  step  by 
step  (and  very  small  steps)  they  advanced,  groping  in 
front  with  their  hands,  and  feeling  the  ground  in  front 
of  them  with  their  feet. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  gasped  Indian.  "There  might  be  a 
trapdoor !" 

That  grewsome  and  ghastly  suggestion  caused  so  much 
terror  that  it  stopped  all  further  progress  for  a  minute  at 
least,  and  when  finally  they  did  go  on,  it  was  with  still 
more  frightened  and  thumping  hearts. 

They  took  two  or  three  more  steps  ahead;  and  then 


30  Mysteries  Galore. 

suddenly  Mark,  who  was  a  trifle  in  the  lead,  sprang  back; 
with  a  cry. 

"What  is  it?'*  gasped  the  rest. 

"There's  something  there/'  he  said.  "Something,  I 
don't  know  what.  I  touched  it !" 

They  stood  in  a  huddled  group,  straining  their  eyes  to 
pierce  the  darkness.  It  was  horrible  to  know  that  some- 
thing was  there,  and  not  to  know  what.  One  might  ima- 
gine anything. 

"It's  a  Megatherium,"  whispered  Dewey,  irrepressible 
even  here. 

In  the  suspense  that  followed  the  frightened  crowd 
made  out  that  Mark  was  leaning  forward  to  explore  with 
one  hand. 

And  then  suddenly,  with  a  cry  of  real  horror  this  time, 
he  forced  them  back  hastily. 

"It's  alive!"  he  cried. 

They  were  about  ready  to  drop  dead  with  terror  by  that 
time,  or  to  scatter  and  run  for  their  lives.  Every  one  of 
them  was  wishing  he  had  never  thought  of  entering  this 
grewsome,  black  place,  with  its  awful  mysteries,  its  possi- 
bilities of  fierce  beasts  or  still  more  fierce  and  lawless  men, 
or  ghosts  and  goblins,  or  Heaven  only  knew  what  else. 


Mysteries  Galore.  31 

Most  men  do  not  believe  in  ghosts  or  goblins  until  they 
get  into  just  some  situation  like  this. 

Indian  was  moaning  in  terror  most  appalling,  and  the 
rest  were  in  but  little  better  state  of  mind.  And  then  sud- 
denly the  Parson  uttered  a  subdued  exclamation.  They 
turned  with  him  and  saw  what  he  meant.  Facing  the 
darkness  as  they  had,  when  they  turned  in  the  direction 
of  the  light  that  streamed  in  from  the  opening,  they  found 
that  they  really  could  begin  to  see.  But  how  ?  The  light 
was  so  dim  and  gray  that  it  only  made  things  worse.  The 
seven  saw  all  kinds  of  horrible  shadows  about  them,  above 
them,  beneath  them,  and  not  one  single  object  could  they 
distinguish  to  allay  their  fears. 

Still  huddled  together,  still  silent  and  trembling,  they 
stood  and  gazed  about  them,  waiting.  There  was  not  a 
sound  but  the  beating  of  their  own  hearts  until  all  of  a 
sudden  Dewey  was  heard  to  whisper. 

"B'gee,  I've  got  a  match !" 

Fumbling  in  his  pockets  for  a  moment  he  brought  that 
precious  object  out,  while  the  others  crowded  about  him 
anxiously.  A  match !  A  match !  They  could  hardly  be- 
lieve their  ears.  Robinson  Crusoe  never  welcomed  that 
tiny  object  more  gratefully. 


32  Mysteries  Galore. 

With  fear  and  trembling  Dewey  prepared  to  light  it. 
Every  one  of  them  dreaded  the  moment ;  horrible  though 
the  darkness  was,  it  might  be  a  black  shroud  for  yet  more 
horrible  things. 

Mark  caught  him  by  the  arm  just  as  he  was  in  the  act 
of  doing  it ;  but  it  was  not  for  that  reason.  He  suggested 
that  they  have  papers  ready  to  keep  that  precious  fire  go- 
ing. It  was  a  good  idea,  and  proved  so  popular  that  the 
Parson,  filled  with  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  even  tore  out 
the  blank  title  pages  of  his  Dana  to  contribute.  And  then 
at  last  Dewey  struck  the  light. 

The  match  was  a  good  one  fortunately.  It  flickered  and 
sputtered  a  moment,  seeming  to  hesitate  about  burning, 
while  the  lads  gasped  in  suspense.  Then  suddenly  it 
flared  up  brightly,  and  they  gazed  about  them  in  dread. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   HORRIBLE  DISCOVERY. 

What  a  lot  of  grewsomeness  a  little  match  can  remove, 
to  be  sure !  This  one  did  not  solve  the  mysteries  of  that 
wondrous  cave,  but  it  removed  most  of  the  horror  of  the 
explorers.  It  showed,  for  instance,  that  the  furry  thing 
which  Mark  had  vowed  was  alive  was  an  ordinary  plush- 
covered  chair! 

The  seven  had  no  time  to  laugh  at  that ;  they  were  too 
busy  staring.  The  feeble  light  could  not  reach  to  the 
other  end  of  the  long  vista  they  saw,  and  neither  could 
one  of  the  "papers  they  hastily 'lit.  But  it  gave  them  one 
glimpse  of  a  most  amazing  scene. 

This  cave  was  indeed  a  surprising  place.  The  carpet 
they  saw  covered  nearly  all  of  the  floor.  There  were 
chairs  scattered  about,  and  other  articles  of  furniture. 
There  were  some  curtains  draped  from  the  rocky  walls. 
There  were  swinging  lamps  from  the  vaulted  roof.  Down 
in  the  dim  distance  there  was  even  a  table — a  table  with 
shining  white  dishes  upon  it.  And  then  the  light  began 
to  flicker. 


34  A  Horrible  Discovery. 

Quick  as  a  flash  Mark  seized  it  and  sprang  toward  one 
of  the  lamps.  He  was  just  in  time.  He  whipped  off  the 
shade  and  touched  the  wick.  A  moment  later  they  were 
standing  in  a  brilliant,  clear  light,  that  shone  to  the 
farthest  depths  of  the  place. 

The  seven  bold  plebes  stood  in  the  center  beneath  the 
lamp,  perfectly  amazed  by  what  they  saw.  The  same  idea 
was  flashing  across  the  minds  of  all  of  them.  This  splen- 
dor must  belong  to  some  one !  Those  dishes  up  there  were 
set  for  a  meal!  And  the  owner — where  was  he?  Sup- 
pose he  should  come  and  find  them  there?  Indian  cast  a 
longing  glance  at -the  opening  that  led  to  freedom  outside. 

Probably  the  wisest  course  for  them  would  have  been 
precipitate  flight.  To  be  trapped  in  there  by  desperate 
men  would  be  terrible  indeed !  But  curiosity  urged  them 
on.  This  was  a  glorious  mystery — a  mystery  worth  solv- 
ing. It  was  almost  a  fairy  tale ;  an  enchanted  princess 
alone  was  needed. 

Now,  whether  they  would  have  been  bold  enough  to  k 
stay  and  look  about  them,  had  it  not  been  for  one  occur- 
rence, it  is  impossible  to  say.    Texas,  glancing  curiously 
about  him,  caught  sight  of  a  familiar  object  on  a  bench  to 


A  Horrible  Discovery.  35 

one  side,  and  he  leaped  forward  and  seized  it.  He  stared 
at  it  hastily  and  gave  a  cry  of  joy. 

It  was  a  revolver!  A  forty-four  calibre,  and  it  was 
loaded,  too! 

No  power  on  earth  could  have  moved  Texas  then;  he 
had  a  gun;  he  was  at  home  after  that,  and  he  feared 
neither  man  nor  devil. 

"Let  'em  come !"  he  cried.    "I'm  a-goin'  to  look." 

He  strode  forward,  Mark  at  his  side,  and  the  rest  fol- 
lowing, peering  into  every  nook  and  cranny. 

One  thing  seemed  certain.  There  was  no  one  about. 
The  cave  had  all  sorts  of  passageways  and  corners,  but 
hunt  as  they  would  they  saw  not  a  soul,  heard  not  a 
sound.  The  place  was  like  a  tomb.  It  was  just  as  silent 
and  weird  and  uncanny,  and  moreover  just  as  moldy  'and 
dusty  as  the  tomb  is  supposed  to  be. 

Mark  examined  the  table  with  its  queer  outlay  of  dishes. 
They  were  all  covered  with  dust;  several  had  tops,  and 
when  Mark  lifted  them  he  found  that  they,  too,  were 
empty  but  for  that.  It  seemed  as  if  dust  were  every- 
where. 

Mark  was  recalled  from  his  interesting  exploration  by 
an  excited  "B'gee!"  from  Dewey.  Dewey  was  staring  at 


36  A  Horrible  Discovery. 

the  wall,  and  as  the  others  ran  up  to  him  he  pointed  with- 
out a  word  in  front  of  him.  There  was  a  calendar  hang- 
ing there.  And  plain  as  day,  the  inscription  was  still — 
Tuesday,  May  the  eighteenth,  eighteen  hundred  and 
forty-eight !" 

The  seven  were  too  mystified  by  that  to  say  a  word. 
They  stared  at  each  other  in  silence,  and  then  went  on. 

The  next  thing  to  attract  their  attention  was  a  long 
workbench  at  one  side.  Mark  wondered  how  that  thing 
could  ever  have  come  in  by  the  opening,  until  he  saw  a 
box  of  tools  at  one  side,  which  suggested  that  it  might 
have  been  built  inside.  There  were  all  sorts  of  strange 
looking  tools  upon  the  bench,  and  molds,  and  dies,  and 
instruments  which  none  of  them  recognized.  Nearby  was 
a  forge  and  a  small  pair  of  bellows,  a  pot  of  once  molten 
metal,  now  cold  and  dust-covered,  stood  beside  it;  there 
were  bars,  too,  of  what  the  puzzled  crowd  took  to  be  lead. 

It  was  left  to  the  all-wise  Parson  to  discover  what  this 
meant.  The  Parson  picked  up  one  of  the  dies  he  saw  upon 
,  the  table.  He  gazed  at  it  curiously,  blowing  away  the 
dust  and  cleaning  the  metal.  Then,  muttering  to  him- 
self excitedly,  he  stepped  over  to  one  side  of  the  cave 
where  soft  clay  was  on  the  floor,  and  seizing  some,  pressed 


A  Horrible  Discovery.  37 

it  into  the  mold.  He  held  it  before  his  horrified  com- 
panions, a  perfect  image  of  the  United  States  half  dollar ; 
and  he  spoke  but  two  words  of  explanation. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "counterfeiters !" 

The  amount  of  excitement  which  that  caused  may  be 
readily  imagined.  A  counterfeiter's  den !  And  they  were 
in  it !  Texas  clutched  his  revolver  the  tighter  and  stared 
about  him  warily.  As  for  poor  Indian,  he  simply  sat  down 
upon  the  floor  and  collapsed. 

"Fellows,"  said  Mark  at  last.  "I  say  we  finish  examin- 
ing this  place  and  get  out.  I  don't  like  it." 

None  of  them  did,  and  they  did  not  hesitate  to  say  so, 
either.  Nothing  but  curiosity,  and  the  fact  that  they  were 
ashamed  to  show  their  fear,  kept  them  from  running  for 
all  they  were  worth.  As  it  was,  their  advance  was  timid 
and  hesitating. 

They  were  almost  at  the  end  of  the  cave  then.  They 
could  see  the  walls  sloping  together  and  the  ceiling  slop- 
ing down  toward  the  floor.  The  light  of  the  lamp  was 
far  away  and  dim  then,  and  they  could  not  see  very 
clearly.  But  one  thing  they  did  make  out  to  their  surprise 
and  alarm.  The  end  of  that  cave  was  a  heavy  iron  door, 
shut  tight! 


38  A  Horrible  Discovery. 

There  was  but  one  idea  flashed  over  the  minds  of  every 
one  of  the  seven  at  that  moment.  The  money !  Here  was 
where  the  men  kept  it,  in  that  firmly  locked  safe. 

"B'gee !"  muttered  Dewey.    "I  say  we  go  back." 

Most  of  them  wanted  to,  and  in  a  hurry.  But  there 
were  two  of  them  that  didn't  mean  to;  one  was  the  ven- 
turesome and  reckless  Texas,  and  the  other  was  Mark. 

"I'm  sorry  I  came  in,"  said  the  latter  calmly.  "But 
since  I'm  here  I'm  going  to  see  the  thing  to  the  end.  I'm 
going  to  search  this  cave  and  find  out  what  the  whole 
business  means.  Who'll  help  me  open  that  door?" 

The  Banded  Seven  weren't  timid  by  a  long  shot.  They 
had  dared  more  desperate  deeds  than  any  plebes  West 
Point  had  ever  seen.  But  in  this  black  hole  of  mystery, 
suggestive  of  desperate  criminals  and  no  one  knew  what 
else,  it  was  no  wonder  that  they  hesitated.  There  was  no 
one  but  Texas  cared  to  venture  near  that  shadowy  door. 

Mark  himself  was  by  no  means  as  cool  as  he  seemed. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  explore  the  cave,  and  he 
meant  to  do  it,  but  he  chose  to  hurry  all  the  same.  He  ( 
stepped  quickly  forward,  peering  anxiously  into  the 
shadows  as  he  did  so.  And  a  moment  later  his  hand 
was  upon  the  door  knob. 


A  Horrible  Discovery.  39 

He  shook  it  vigorously,  but  found  that  it  was  firmly 
set.  It  reminded  him  of  the  door  of  a  safe,  for  it  had  a 
solid,  heavy  "feel,"  and  it  closed  with  a  spring  lock,  hav- 
ing no  key.  Mark  noticed  that  as  he  was  debating  with 
himself  whether  or  not  to  open  it;  and  then  suddenly  he 
gave  the  knob  a  mighty  wrench  and  pulled  with  all  his 
might  upon  the  door. 

The  knob  was  rusty,  and  so  were  the  complicated 
hinges.  The  door  finally  gave  way,  however,  with  a  creak 
that  was  dismal  and  suggestive.  The  others  shrank  back 
instinctively  as  the  black  space  it  disclosed  yawned  in  front 
of  them. 

Mark's  heart  was  beating  furiously  as  he  glanced 
around  to  peer  in.  A  musty,  close  odor  caught  his  atten- 
tion, and  then  as  the  faint  light  made  its  way  in,  he  raw 
that  beyond  was  still  another  compartment,  seemingly 
blacker,  and  certainly  more  mysterious  than  the  first.  But 
Mark  hesitated  not  a  moment ;  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  enter  and  he  did.  Texas,  who  was  at  his  back,  taking 
hold  of  the  door  to  hold  it. 

Those  outside  waited  for  but  one  moment,  a  moment 
of  anxious  suspense  and  dread.  They  had  seen  their 
leader's  figure  vanish,  swallowed  up  in  the  blackness  of 


4o  A  Horrible  Discovery. 

the  place.    They  were  wondering,  tremblingly,  as  to  what 

the  result  would  be;  and  then  suddenly  came  a  result  so 

terrible  and  unexpected  that  it  nearly  knocked  them  down. 

It  was  a  scream,  a  wild  shriek  of  horror,  and  it  came  from 

Mark! 

The  six  outside  gazed  at  each  other,  ready  to  faint  from 
fright;  Texas,  startled,  too,  by  the  weirdness  of  the  tone, 
sprang  back  involuntarily.  And  in  an  instant  the  heavy 
iron  door,  released  from  his  hand,  swung  inward  and 
slammed  with  a  dismal  clang  that  rang  and  echoed  down 
the  long,  vaulted  cave. 

The  noise  was  succeeded  by  a  silence  that  was  yet  more 
terrible ;  not  another  sound  came  from  Mark,  to  tell  that 
he  was  alive  or  what.  And  for  just  an  instant,  paralyzed 
with  fright,  the  horror-stricken  cadets  stood  motionless, 
staring  blankly  at  the  glistening  door.  And  then  Texas 
sprang  forward  to  the  rescue.  He  seized  the  knob  furi- 
ously, and  tearing  at  the  barrier  with  all  his  strength, 
'  flung  it  wide  open. 

"Come  on!"  he  cried.    "Follow  me!" 

Texas  was  clutching  the  revolver,  a  desperate  look  upon 
his  face;  the  others,  horrified  though  they  were,  sprang 


A  Horrible  Discovery.  41 

forward  to  his  side  ready  to  dare  anything  for  the  sake  of 
Mark. 

But  there  was  no  need  of  their  entering.  As  the  light 
shone  in  the  whole  scene  was  plainly  in  view.  And  the  six 
stared  with  ever-increasing  awe.  Leaning  against  the 
wall,  where  he  had  staggered  back,  was  Mark;  his  face 
was  as  white  as  a  sheet;  one  trembling  hand  was  raised, 
pointing  across  the  compartment.  And  the  rest  followed 
the  direction  with  their  eyes,  and  then  started  back  in  no 
less  horror,  their  faces  even  paler  than  his.  Lying  flat 
upon  the  floor,  shining1  out  in  the  blackness  white  and  dis- 
tinct and  ghastly,  their  hollow  eyes  fixed  in  a  death  stare 
upon  the  roof,  were  six  horrible,  grinning  skeletons. 

Awe-stricken,  those  reckless  plebes  stood  motionless, 
gazing  upon  the  scene.  They  were  too  dumfounded  to 
say  a  word,  almost  to  think.  And  then  suddenly,  as  one 
man,  moved  by  a  single  impulse,  they  faced  about  and  stole 
silently  out  of  the  place.  The  iron  door  clanged  once 
more,  and  then,  still  silent,  the  plebes  marched  in  Indian 
file  down  the  long  corridor  to  where  the  sunlight 
streamed  in;  helped  each  other  out  through  the  narrow 
opening;  and  finally,  free  at  last,  drew  a  long  breath  of 
inexpressible  relief  under  the  clear  blue  sky  of  heaven. 


42  A  Horrible  Discovery. 

It  was  some  minutes  after  that  even  before  they  said  a 
word.  Finally  Mark  spoke. 

"Fellows,"  he  said,  "there's  a  mystery.  Who  can  solve 
it?" 

The  Parson  heaved  a  sigh  and  raised  his  voice. 

"There  were  once,"  he  began,  "six  counterfeiters,  who 
did  their  work  in  a  lonely  cave.  That  cave  had  two  en- 
trances, one  of  which  we  know  of." 

"And  the  other  lies  at  the  end  of  the  passageway,"  said 
Mark. 

"It  was  a  way  of  escape,"  went  on  the  Parson,  "in  case 
the  other  entrance  was  discovered  by  outsiders.  But  sub- 
sequently that  entrance  became  blocked " 

"And  they  were  caught  in  their  own  trap,"  finished 
Mark.  "That  door  slammed  as  it  did  on  me,  and  they 
were  suffocated.  And  that  is  all.  Let  us  go  home." 

Still  awe-stricken  and  silent,  the  rest  arose  and  started 
to  follow  him.  But  suddenly  Texas,  the  excitable,  irrele- 
vant Texas,  stopped  and  began  to  gasp. 

"Say!"  he  cried.    "Fellers " 

"What  is  it?" 

"D'ye  know  I  never  thought  of  it!  That  air  cave  is 
our'n!" 


A  Horrible  Discovery.  43 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"There  ain't  any  one  else  to  own  it,  that's  what  I  mean. 

n'  ef  ever  we  want  a  place  to  hide  in " 

"Or  haze  yearlings  in,"  came  from  Dewey. 

"It's  ours !"  cried  Mark.    "Just  the  thing  1  Hurrah !" 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   JOKE  ON   THE   PARSON. 

Mark  did  not  lose  any  time  in  telling  Grace  Fuller  all 
about  the  cave. 

He  called  on  her  at  the  West  Point  Hotel,  where  she 
boarded  with  her  father,  and  found  her  sitting  on  the 
piazza. 

"A  real  cave!"  she  cried}  with  a  smile.  "How  roman- 
tic !  Have  you  told " 

"Nobody  but  you,"  said  Mark.  "It's  our  secret.  We 
may  want  to  haze  some  yearlings  there,  you  know.  So  not 
a  word." 

"But  you  say  it  was  furnished !    Howxwonderful !" 

"Yes,"  said  Mark,  "even  carpets.  It  seems  that  this 
place  was  once  the  den  of  a  gang  of  counterfeiters.  I  see 
you  open  your  eyes  in  surprise.  We  found  all  their  dies 
and  molds  and  everything." 

"But  how  do  you  know  they  aren't  there  still  ?"  inquired 
Grace  Fuller  in  alarm. 

"That  is  the  grewsome  part  of  the  story.  They  are  all 
dead.  We  found  that  the  cave  was  divided  by  a  heavy 


A  Joke  on  the  Parson.  45 

iron  door.  I  went  into  the  other  part  and  the  door 
slammed  and  shut  me  in.  I  was  scared  almost  to  death, 
far  more  than  I  was  the  day  I  swam  out  to  help  you.  The 
rest  of  the  fellows  opened  it  at  last,  and  I  found  that  I  was 
shut  in  with  six  skeletons.  I  don't  wonder  you  look  hor- 
rified. Those  criminals  had  been  trapped  accidentally  in 
their  own  cave,  just  as  I  was,  but  they  had  been  suffo- 
cated. And  there  they  had  lain,  we  found  out  afterward, 
for  forty  or  fifty  years." 

"It  is  perfectly  terrible!"  gasped  the  girl,  her  cheeks 
pale.  "I  don't  see  how  you  will  ever  dare  go  into  the 
place  again." 

"It  is  a  big  temptation,"  laughed  Mark.  "You  see  if 
the  cadets  continue  to  try  unfair  tactics  in  their  efforts  to 
haze  us  poor  unfortunate  plebes  we  can  scare  some  of 
them  into  submission  up  there.  And  besides,  our  learned 
Boston  friend,  Parson  Stanard,  has  gotten  the  gold  fever. 
He  vows  he's  going  on  a  treasure  hunt  in  that  cave." 

"A  treasure  hunt!" 

"Yes.  You  see  it's  probable  those  men  had  some 
money,  to  say  nothing  of  all  the  bad  money  they  made. 
And  it'll  be  a  case  of  'finding's  keepings/  " 

"I  see,"  said  Grace,  thoughtfully.    And  then  suddenly 


46  A  Joke  on  the  Parson. 

she  broke  into  one  of  her  merry,  ringing  laughs,  that 
compelled  Mark  to  join. 

"I  think  the  Parson's  such  a  queer  old  chap !"  she  cried. 
"Isn't  he  comical?  He's  so  solemn  and  learned.  I  can 
just  imagine  him  prying  all  about  that  cave,  the  same 
way  he  does  for  his  fossils." 

"I  never  shall  forget  the  day  I  first  met  the  Parson," 
responded  Mark.  "It  was  when  we  were  just  getting  up 
the  Banded  Seven  to  try  to  stop  the  hazing.  The  year- 
lings had  tied  his  long,  bony  frame  in  a  sack.  He  had 
gotten  out  and  chased  the  whole  crowd  of  them  about 
the  parade  ground.  And  he  came  into  my  room  in  bar- 
racks perfectly  furious  with  indignation.  Yea,  by  Zeus !" 

"He  found  out  I  was  interested  in  geology,"  said  Grace. 
"I  studied  it  once,  and  he's  never  ceased  to  give  me  lec- 
tures since  he  found  that  out.  And  I  never  hear  anything 
nowadays  but  shistose  slates,  and  sandstone  conglomer- 
ates, and  triassic  eras,  and  orohippusses  and  pertodactyles 
and  brontotheriums." 

"He  gives  us  long  discourses  over  in  camp,  too," 
laughed  Mark.  "I  can  see  his  lank,  bony  figure  now.  It 
was  more  comical  still  when  he  wore  his  'geology  coat/ 
with  huge  coat  tails  and  pockets  for  fossils.  Anyhow,  he 


A  Joke  on  the  Parson.  47 

gets  very  much  worked  up  when  he's  telling  us  about  the 
glories  of  geology.  And  poor  Dewey,  who's  such  an  in- 
veterate joker,  always  has  to  get  into  trouble  by  inter- 
rupting him.  Yesterday,  for  instance,  the  Parson  was 
telling  us  about  seashores.  He  didn't  see  how  any  one 
could  fail  to  appreciate  what  a  wonderful  thing  a  beach 
was.  Here  was  being  written  a  record  that  men  might 
read  millions  of  years  later.  It  would  be  hardened  then 
into  imperishable  stone.  Here,  for  instance,  was  the 
track  of  a  bird.  Little  by  little  sand  would  be  scattered 
over  it ;  more  sand  on  top  of  that ;  and  so  on  until  it  was 
crushed  into  rock.  That  is  the  way  all  sandstones  are 
made.  Huge  convulsions  of  earth  would  bring  that  up 
to  the  surface ;  men  would  find  it,  break  it  open,  and  there 
the  track  of  the  bird !  Wonder  of  wonders !" 

Here  Mark  paused  for  breath,  and  began  to  laugh. 

"What  did  Dewey  say  ?"  inquired  Grace. 

"He  wanted  to  know  if  the  Parson  would  classify  the 
summer  girl  as  a  bind.  He  said  he'd  seen  lots  of  their 
tracks  on  the  beach.  Then  he  wanted  to  know  if  a  learned 
geologist  could  tell  the  track  of  a  Chicago  girl  from  that 
of  a  Boston  girl.  Then  he  went  on  to  imagine  the  con- 
tents of  a  Coney  Island  sandstone.  The  Parson  had  told 
\ 


48  A  Joke  on  the  Parson. 

of  Megatheriums'  bones  and  teeth  and  skeletons.  Dewey 
wanted  to  know  how  about  empty  sarsaparilla  bottles  and 
peanut  shells,  and  tickets  to  the  Turkish  dancers  and 
Shoot  the  Chutes,  and  popcorn  balls,  and  frankfurters." 

"What  did  the  Parson  say?"  laughed  the  girl. 

"Oh,  he  just  said  something  about  being  'frivolous.' 
But  the  climax  came  a  few  minutes  later  when  the  Par- 
son told  how  Cavier  and  other  famous  scientists  had  be- 
come so  wondrously  learned  that  they  could  tell  what  an 
animal  was  from  the  tiniest  bit  of  its  skeleton,  its  frame, 
as  he  called  It.  And  that  started  Dewey.  He  put  on  his 
most  serious  face  and  told  us  how  he'd  read  of  a  great 
mystery,  a  geologist  who  had  found  the  frame  of  an  ani- 
mal hard  as  iron,  and  almost  smashed  to  pieces  in  some 
rocks.  There  was  what  looked  like  the  body  of  a  man 
lying  near.  The  first-mentioned  thing,  so  Dewey  said, 
had  eighteen  teeth  in  front  and  seven  behind.  And  the 
geologist  didn't  know  what  on  earth  it  was." 

Mark  interrupted  himself  here  long  enough  to  indulge 
in  a  little  silent  laughter,  and  then  he  went  on. 

"Well,  the  Parson  took  it  seriously.  He  put  on  his 
most  learned  air,  and  looked  it  up  in  'Dana/  his  beloved 
geological  text-book.  'Eighteen  in  front  and  seven  be- 


A  Joke  on  the  Parson.  49 

hind?  The  rear  ones  must  be  molars.  Probably,  then,  it 
was  a  Palaeothere,  but  they  were  extinct  before  primaeval 
man  appears.  And  it  couldn't  be  one  of  the  Zenglodons, 
,  and  surely  not  a  Plesiosaurus.  Oh,  yes !  Why,  of  course, 
it  must  be  an  Ichthyornis !'  And  the  Parson  was  smiles 
all  over.  'How  stupid  of  that  geologist  not  to  have 
guessed  it !  An  Ichthyornis  !'  But  then  Dewey  said  no,  it 
wasn't.  'Then  what  is  it?'  cried  the  Parson." 

"And  what  did  he  say  ?"  laughed  Grace. 

"He  said  it  was  a  '97  model,  seventy-two  gear,  and  the 
rider  had  coasted  down  the  hill  on  it.  The  teeth  weren't 
molars,  they  were  sprockets.  Somebody  yelled  'Bicycle!' 
and  the  Parson  wouldn't  speak  to  him  all  day." 

The  girl's  merry  laughter  over  the  story  was  pleasant 
to  hear;  it  was  a  great  deal  more  pleasant  to  Mark  than 
the  original  incident  had  been. 

"I  think  it's  a  shame  to  fool  him  so,"  said  Grace.  "The 
Parson  is  so  solemn  and  dignified.  And  it  hurts  his 
feelings." 

"He  gets  over  it  all,"  laughed  Mark,  "and  then  he  en- 
joys it,  too,  else  we  wouldn't  do  it;  for  every  one  of  us 
likes  our  old  geological  genius.  I  don't  see  what  we 


50  A  Joke  on  the  Parson. 

should  do  without  him.  He  knows  everything  under  the 
sun,  I'm  sure,  especially  about  fossils." 

"I  don't  think  it  would  be  possible  to  fool  him,"  said 
she. 

Mark  chuckled  softly  to  himself. 

"That  remark  of  yours  just  reminds  me  of  something 
else,"  he  said.  "The  Banded  Seven  have  put  up  a  job  to 
try." 

"Try  to  fool  the  Parson,  you  mean?"  cried  Grace. 

By  way  of  answer  Mark  fumbled  under  his  jacket 
where  the  girl  had  noticed  a  peculiar  lump.  He  drew 
forth  a  bit  of  stone  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"What  would  you  call  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"It  looks  for  all  the  world  like  a  fossil,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Mark.  'That's  what  we  all  thought.  Dewey 
found  it,  and  it  fooled  him.  He  thought  it  was  the  bone 
of  a  Megatherium,  or  one  of  those  outlandish  beasts.  We 
were  going  to  give  it  to  the  Parson,  only  I  had  the  luck 
to  recognize  it.  It's  nothing  but  a  bit  of  a  porcelain  jug. 
And  then  Dewey  suggested  that  we  try  it  on  him,  too." 

"I  should  like  to  see  how  it  goes  with  the  Parson,"  re- 
sponded Grace,  with  a  laugh.  "I  wish  you'd  try  it  while 
I'm  around." 


A  Joke  on  the  Parson.  51 

The  two  as  they  had  been  talking  were  gazing  across 
from  the  piazza  in  the  direction  of  the  summer  encamp- 
ment of  the  corps.  And  suddenly  the  girl  gave  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise,  as  she  noticed  a  tall,  long-legged 
figure  leave  the  camp,  and  proceed  with  great  strides 
across  the  parade  ground. 

"There  he  goes  now !"  cried  she. 

Mark  put  his  fingers  to  his  lips  and  gave  a  shrill  whis- 
tle. The  Parson  faced  about  and  stared  around  anxiously ; 
then,  as  he  saw  a  handkerchief  waving  to  him  from  the 
hotel,  he  turned  and  strode  in  that  direction.  A  minute 
later  his  solemn  face  was  gazing  up  at  the  two. 

"What  is  it  ?"  he  inquired.  "I  dare  not  come  up  there. 
No,  tempt  me  not.  The  little  volume  of  instructions  des- 
ignated as  the  Blue  Book  denies  the  pleasure  of  visiting 
the  hotel  without  a  permit.  I  fear  exceedingly  lest  I  be 
violating  some  regulation  by  standing  so  near  the  forbid- 
den ground." 

"I'm  quite  used  to  getting  permits  to  visit  here," 
laughed  Mark.  "I  think  I'll  order  them  by  the  wholesale 
soon,  that  is  if  Miss  Fuller  stays  much  longer. 

"I'll  bet,"  Mark  added,  whispering  to  the  girl,  as  he 


52  A  Joke  on  the  Parson. 

noticed  the  Parson  edging  off.  "I'll  bet  I  can  make  him 
break  a  rule  and  come  up  here." 

"How  ?"  inquired  the  girl. 

"Parson !    Oh,  Parson  !"  cried  Mark.    "Come  up  here !" 

"Tempt  me  not!"  protested  Stanard.  "The  danger  is 
great  and " 

"I've  got  a  fossil  to  show  you,"  called  the  other. 

The  Parson  stared  incredulously  for  a  moment  at  the 
object  Mark  held  up.  He  suspected  a  ruse.  But  no,  it 
was  a  fossil !  And  oblivious  to  duty,  danger,  demerits 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  universe,  he  gave  a  leap,  dashed 
up  the  stairs,  and  fairly  pounced  upon  the  two. 

"A  fossil!"  he  cried.  "By  the  immortal  gods,  a  fossil! 
Yea,  by  Zeus,  let  me  see  it. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

STANART/S  DEFIANCE. 

The  Parson  seemed  about  ready  to  devour  that  "fossil." 
He  seized  it  and  plumped  himself  down  in  a  chair  with  a 
thud.  He  paused  just  long  enough  to  deposit  his  "Dana" 
upon  the  floor,  and  to  draw  up  his  learned  trousers  to  the 
high-water  mark,  disclosing  his  pale,  sea-green  socks. 
And  then  with  a  preliminary  "Ahem !"  and  several  blinks 
he  raised  the  precious  relic  and  stared  at  it. 

The  two  conspirators  were  watching  him  gleefully,  occa- 
sionally exchanging  sly  glances.  The  Parson,  all  oblivi- 
ous of  this,  surveyed  one  side  of  the  fossil  and  then  turned 
it  over.  He  tapped  it  on  the  arm  of  his  chair ;  he  picked 
at  it  with  his  finger  nail ;  he  even  tasted  it,  with  scientific 
public-spiritedness  and  zeal.  And  then  he  cleared  his 
throat  solemnly  and  looked  up. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "er — that  is — ladies — this  is  a 
most  interesting  specimen  we  have  here.  I  regret  that 
with  the  brief  analysis  possible  to  me  I  cannot  classify  it 
as  I  should  like.  A  microscopic  examination  would  be 
undoubtedly  essential  for  that.  But  some  things  I  can 


54  Stanard's  Defiance. 

say.  This  is  evidently  a  fossil  bone,  a  portion  of  the 
thigh  bone,  I  should  say,  probably  of  some  gigantic  ani- 
mal like  the  Ichthyosaurus.  As  you  will  notice  from  the 
compactness  of  the  structure  and  the  heaviness,  it  is  much 
solidified,  thus  indicating  a  very  remote  age,  probably  the 
upper  Cretaceous  at  the  very  least,  or  possibly  the  Silurian. 
I  am  not  able  to  say  positively  because " 

The  Parson  stopped  and  gazed  about  him  with  a  sur- 
prised and  rather  injured  air.  Really  the  rudeness  of 
some  people  was  amazing!  Here  were  the  two  he  was 
talking  to  actually  leaning  back  in  their  chairs  and  giving 
vent  to  peals  of  laughter,  what  about  he  had  no  idea. 
This  was  really  too  much! 

It  was  at  least  five  minutes  before  either  Mark  or  his 
companion  could  manage  to  stop  long  enough  to  explain 
to  the  puzzled  geologist  that  he  had  been  classifying  a 
porcelain  jug.  And  when  they  did  and  he  realized  it  he 
sat  back  in  his  chair  and  gazed  at  them  in  utter  conster- 
nation. He  never  said  one  word  for  at  least  a  minute; 
he  simply  stared,  while  the  idea  slowly  percolated  through  [ 
his  mind.  Grace  Fuller,  ever  kind-hearted  and  consid- 
erate, had  begun  to  fear  that  he  was  angry,  and  then  sud- 
denly the  Boston  scholar  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  opened 


Stanard's  Defiance.  55 

his  classic  mouth,  and  forth  therefrom  came  a  roar  of 
laughter  that  made  the  sentries  away  over  by  camp  start 
in  alarm. 

"Ho,  ho,  ho !"  shouted  he.  "Ho,  ho !  ha,  ha !  he,  he !  A 
jug!  Yea,  by  Zeus,  a  jug!  By  the  nine  immortals,  a 
jug!" 

Mark  stared  at  him  in  undisguised  amazement.  Dur- 
ing all  his  acquaintance  with  that  solemn  scholar,  he  had 
never  seen  such  an  earthquake  of  a  laugh  as  that.  And 
evidently,  too,  the  Parson  was  not  used  to  it,  for  when 
he  stopped  he  was  so  out  of  breath  and  red  in  the  face 
that  he  could  hardly  move. 

And  that  was  the  first,  last,  one  and  only  time  that 
Parson  Stanard  was  ever  known  to  laugh.  It  took  a 
peculiar  sort  of  a  joke  to  move  the  Parson. 

It  took  also  quite  an  amount  of  sputtering  and  gasping 
to  restore  the  gentleman's  throat  and  lungs  to  their  ordi- 
nary normal  condition.  That  spasm  of  hilarity  which  had 
plowed  its  way  through  him  like  a  mighty  ship  through 
the  waves  had  left  little  ripples  and  gurgles  of  laughter 
which  bubbled  forth  occasionally  for  the  next  ten  minutes 
at  least.  It  passed,  however,  at  last,  to  return  no  more, 


56  Stanard's  Defiance. 

and  Parson  Stanard  was  the  same,  solemn  and  learned 
Parson  as  ever. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "er — that  is — ahem — ladies — that 
was  indeed  a  most  extraordinary  blunder  for  a  student  of 
geology  to  make." 

"It  fooled  us  all,"  said  Grace,  consolingly. 

"Ahem !"  responded  he,  with  crushing  severity.  "That 
was  to  be  expected.  But  one  who  has  pursued  the  science 
as  the  study  of  his  life  should  not  thus  be  deceived.  Gen- 
tlemen, I  am  tired  of  being  fooled,  yea,  by  Zeus !" 

"Do  you  mean,"  inquired  Mark,  "that  you  want  us  to 
stop  playing  jokes  on  you?" 

Mark  had  been  a  little  conscience-stricken  during  that 
last  prank.  He  expected  the  Parson  to  answer  his  ques- 
tion in  the  affirmative,  and  he  meant  in  all  seriousness  to 
agree  to  stop.  But  the  Parson's  answer  was  different. 
His  professional  pride  had  been  awakened. 

"I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind !"  said  he.  "I  mean  that 
I  no  longer  mean  to  let  you.  I  mean  that  a  man  who 
has  so  long  resisted  and  outwitted  our  enemy,  the  year- 
lings, ought  now  to  be  beyond  deception.  I  will  no  more 
be  fooled  !J> 


Stanard's  Defiance.  57 

There  was  quite  an  exciting  adventure  destined  to 
grow  out  of  that  scholarly  defiance,  an  adventure  that 
none  of  those  present  had  the  least  suspicion  of  then. 

"Do  you  mean,"  inquired  Mark,  laughingly,  "that  you 
defy  the  Banded  Seven  to  fool  you  again?" 

"Yea,  by  Zeus!"  said  the  Parson,  emphatically.  "And 
I  mean  not  only  geologically,  but  in  any  other  way  what- 
soever, logically  or  illogically." 

Mark  chuckled  softly  to  himself  at  that. 

"I'll  try  it  some  day,"  he  said.  "I'll  give  you  a  chance 
to  forget  it  meanwhile." 

He  said  nothing  more  about  it  then,  and  a  minute  or 
so  later  the  Parson  arose  to  go. 

"Ahem  !"  said  he.  "Gentlemen— er— that  is— ladies— I 
bid  you  good-afternoon.  I  really  fear  to  incur  further 
risk  by  yielding  to  the  charms  of  the  siren's  voice.  Fare- 
wdl  I" 

Mark  and  the  girl  sat  in  silence  and  watched  his  un- 
gainly figure  stride  away  down  the  path ;  and  suddenly  she 
fell  to  laughing  merrily. 

"The  Parson's  dignity  is  insulted,"  she  said.  "He  is 
getting  bold  and  defiant." 


58  Stanard's  Defiance. 

"And  I  see  room  for  no  end  of  fun  just  there,"  re- 
sponded Mark.  "I  had  an  inspiration  a  few  moments  ago, 
watching  him.  And  I  have  a  perfectly  fascinating  plot 
already." 

"Do  you  mean,"  inquired  Grace,  "that  you  are  going 
to  take  his  challenge  up  so  soon  ?" 

"That's  just  what  I  do,"  laughed  Mark.  "I  mean  to 
do  it  this  very  night,  before  he's  expecting  it." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  told  you  a  few  moments  ago,  didn't  I,  that  the  Par- 
son was  excited  over  the  possibility  of  finding  a  treasure  ?" 

The  girl  was  staring  at  Mark  with  a  look  of  interest 
and  curiosity.  That  single  hint  was  enough  for  her 
quick-witted  mind,  and  her  beautiful  face  was  lit  up  with 
excitement  in  a  moment. 

"Jeminy !"  she  cried.  "That's  so!  Oo!  Let  me  help, 
won't  you?  We'll  fool  the  Parson  with  a  treasure!" 

During  the  next  half  hour  those  two  conspirators,  com- 
pletely oblivious  of  everything,  just  sat  and  whispered 
and  chuckled.  They  were  off  in  a  lonely  corner  with  no 
one  to  overhear  them,  and  they  put  their  heads  together 
and  concocted  schemes  by  the  bushel,  getting  more  and 
more  excited  and  hilarious  every  moment.  And  then  sud- 


Stanard's  Defiance.  59 

denly  Mark  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  delight,  said  good-by 
in  a  hurry  and  rushed  away. 

"I  must  tell  the  rest  of  the  Seven!"  he  laughed.  "This 
is  too  good  to  keep!  And  oh,  say,  if  we  can  work  it! 
Whoop!" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

STANARD'S  STRANGE  VISITOR. 

Dress  parade,  which  took  place  immediately  after  the 
above  occupied  the  time  until  supper.  It  was  growing 
dark  by  the  time  the  battalion  marched  back  from  mess 
hall,  and  the  plebes  sighed  and  realized  that  one  more 
Saturday  half  holiday  was  gone.  Parson  Stanard,  with 
whom  we  have  to  do  at  present,  looked  around  for  his 
fellow  members  as  soon  as  the  plebe  company  broke  ranks. 
He  found  to  his  surprise  that  they  had  disappeared  sud- 
denly, gone  he  knew  not  where.  They  had  gone  to  put 
into  execution  the  plot  to  fool  him,  but  Stanard  did  not 
know  it.  He  turned  and  strolled  away  by  himself  in  the 
gathering  dusk. 

Near  Trophy  Point,  just  west  of  the  camp,  stands  Bat- 
tle Monument.  North  of  it  stretches  one  of  the  finest 
views  that  the  Hudson  Valley  affords,  a  winding  river 
reaching  the  horizon's  end  with  the  mountains  of  the 
Highlands  sloping  to  its  very  shores.  The  Parson  liked 
that  view  especially  at  this  "hour  of  peace."  The  Parson 
was  wont  to  preach  long  sermons  to  himself  upon  the 


Stanard's  Strange  Visitor.  61 

sublimity  of  nature  and  the  insignificance  of  man,  etc., 
whenever  he  walked  out  there.  And  so  now  he  seated 
himself  in  a  quiet  nook  and  soon  forgot  where  he  was 
and  everything  else  about  himself. 

Others  knew  where  he  was,  however,  and  from  a  safe 
distance  were  eying  his  meditative  form.  It  got  darker 
and  darker,  stars  began  to  come  out  one  by  one,  and  the 
moon  began  to  turn  from  white  to  golden.  All  this  was 
lost  upon  the  solitary  philosopher,  who  would  probably 
have  remained  hidden  in  his  own  thoughts  until  tattoo 
sounded,  had  it  not  been  for  one  unpleasant  interruption. 

Now  the  Parson  did  not  like  to  be  interrupted;  he 
looked  up  with  an  obvious  expression  of  annoyance,  when 
he  became  aware  of  the  fact  that  a  figure  was  approach- 
ing him,  had  stopped'  and  was  staring  at  him.  But  when 
the  Parson  surveyed  the  figure,  he  forgot  to  be  annoyed, 
for  it  was  a  very  peculiar-looking  figure,  and  moreover 
it  was  acting  very  peculiarly  too. 

From  what  the  Parson  could  see  of  him  in  the  darkness 
he  was  an  old  pack  peddler.  His  figure  was  bent  and 
stooping,  and  he  bore  upon  his  back  a  heavy  load.  As  to 
his  face,  it  was  so  covered  by  a  growth  of  heavy  black 
hair  and  beard  that  the  Parson  could  see  nothing  but  a 


6a  Stanard's  Strange  Visitor. 

pair  of  twinkling  eyes.  Such  was  the  man;  to  the  Par- 
son's infinite  amazement  he  was  setting  down  his  pack 
and  preparing  to  display  his  wares  to  him — to  him,  the 
refined  and  cultured  Boston  scholar. 

"Shoe  laces,  suspenders?"  muttered  the  curious  crea- 

• 
ture,  in  a  low,  disagreeable  voice. 

"No!"  said  the  other,  emphatically. 

"Matches,  collar  buttons  ?" 

"No !"  cried  the  Parson,  this  time  angrily. 

"Socks,  combs,  brushes?" 

"No!    Go  away!" 

"Hairpins,  needles,  necklaces?" 

"I  tell  you  I  don't  want  anything!"  exclaimed  the  ca- 
det. "You  disturb  my  meditations,  yea,  by  Zeus,  exceed- 
ingly !  I  have  no  money.  I  don't  want  anything !" 

The  strange  old  man  paid  not  the  'least  attention  to 
these  emphatic  and  scholarly  remonstrances.  He  was  still 
fumbling  at  his  pack,  about  to  display  the  contents.  And 
so  the  Parson,  who  was  exceedingly  provoked  at  having 
been  interrupted  in  a  most  valuable  train  of  thought,  see- 
ing the  man  was  persistent,  sprang  up  and  started  to 
hurry  away  in  disgust. 


Stanard's  Strange  Visitor.  63 

And  then  suddenly  he  was  brought  to  a  halt  again,  com- 
pletely, as  much  startled  as  if  he  had  been  shot  through 
the  back.  For  the  old  man  had  raised  his  voice  com- 
mandingly  and  called  aloud : 

"Stop!" 

Completely  mystified  and  not  a  little  alarmed  by  that 
extraordinary  act,  the  Parson  turned  and  stared  at  the 
weird  figure.  The  peddler  was  still  bent  half  to  the 
ground,  but  he  had  flung  back  his  bushy  head  and  ex- 
tended his  hand  in  a  gesture  of  command. 

"Wh— -why!"  stammered  the  amazed  cadet.  "By 
Zeus !" 

The  old  man  continued  to  stand,  his  piercing  eyes 
flashing.  And  then  suddenly  he  dropped  his  hand  and 
in  a  low,  singsong  voice  began  to  mumble,  as  if  to  him- 
self. His  very  first  words  rooted  the  Parson  to  the  spot 
in  amazement  and  horror. 

"Deep  within  a  mountain  dreary 

Lies  a  cavern  old  and  dark; 
Where  the  bones  of  men  lie  bleaching 
In  a  chamber,  cold  and  stark." 

The  Parson  had  turned  as  white  as  any  bones ;  he  was 
gasping,  staring  at  the  horrible  creature,  who  knew  the 
secret  that  the  Parson  had  thought  was  his  friends'  alone 


64  Stanard's  Strange  Visitor. 

to  tell.  His  consternation  it  is  difficult  to  imagine;  the 
crouching  figure  saw  it,  and  took  advantage  of  it  in- 
stantly. Without  making  another  sound,  he  backed  away; 
beckoning,  the  Parson  following  instinctively,  helplessly. 
They  stood  beneath  the  protecting  shadow  of  some  high 
bushes,  and  there  once  more  the  weird  figure  raised  his 
arms,  and  the  amazed  cadet  quailed  and  listened : 

"'Twas  a  secret  not  for  mortals 
Hidden  by  that  cavern  walls 
For  beyond  those  gloomy  portals " 

"In  the  name  of  all  that  is  holy!"  cried  the  Parson, 
suddenly.  "By  the  nine  Olympians,  by  the  nine  Helico- 
nian muses,  I  abjure  you!  By  the  three  Cycles,  by  the 
three  Centimani,  the  three  Fates,  the  three  Furies,  the 
three  Graces !  By  Acheron  and  the  Styx !  By  the  Pillars 
of  Hercules  and  the  Palladium  of  Troy.  By  all  that  men 
can  mention,  yea,  by  Zeus,  I  demand  to  know  how  you 
learned  this !" 

The  Parson  gasped  after  that ;  and  the  old  man  went  on: 

"Silence,  rash,  presumptuous  mortal, 
Seekest  thou  the  Fates  to  know? 
At  whose  word  e'en  Zeus  doth  tremble, 
Sun  and  earth  and  moon  below." 

There  was  nothing  like  a  classical  allusion  to  awe  the 


Stanard's  Strange  Visitor.  65 

Parson ;  convinced  of  the  strange  man's  superiority,  then, 
he  dared  not  a  word  more. 

"Bold  and  reckless  those  who  entered, 

Risks  they  ran  they  never  knew. 
But,  once  entered  their's  the  secret, 
Secret  that  I  tell  to  you. 

"At  the  hour  of  midnight  venture 

To  that  cavern  black  to  go. 
Fear  not !   I  protection  give  thee, 
Keep  thee  safe  from  every  foe. 

"Bear  a  spade  upon  thy  shoulder; 

Take  thy  friends  to  give  thee  aid, 
Deep  to  dig  in  search  of  treasure 
Once  beneath  its  carpet  laid. 

"Find  a  lamp — by  you  'twas  lighted 
When  you  first  beheld  those  halls. 
'Tis  the  secret  I  shall  give  thee — 
Dig — where'er  its  shadow  falls!" 

The  old  man  stopped  abruptly.  The  amazed  cadet  was 
staring  at  him  in  the  utmost  consternation.  And  then 
suddenly  the  man  raised  his  hand  again. 

"Go!"  he  said. 

The  Parson  followed  his  finger;  it  was  pointing  to  the 
camp ;  and  hesitating  but  a  moment  more  Stanard  turned 
and  started  away,  his  brain  reeling  so  that  he  could 
hardly  walk,  his  ears  still  echoing  the  words : 

"  'Tis  the  secret  I  shall  give  thee— 
Dig— where'er  its  shadow  falls !" 


66  Stanard's  Strange  Visitor. 

He  never  once  turned  to  look  back  at  that  mysterious 
figure.  If  he  had  he  might  have  been  more  surprised  than 
ever.  For  the  figure,  hiding  behind  the  bush,  flung  off 
its  pack,  stepped  out  of  the  old  man's  rags,  tore  off  a 

heavy  false  beard  and  wig  and  emerged 

Mark  Mallory ! 

He  whistled  once,  and  a  drum  orderly,  bribed  for  the 
occasion,  ran  out  and  hurried  off  with  the  things.  And 
Mark  rushed  over  and  burst  into  a  group  of  cadets  that 
stood  near. 

"It  worked!  It  worked!"  he  cried.  "Oh,  you  should 
have  seen  how  it  took  him  in!  And  he'll  go  as  sure  as 
we're  alive." 

And  just  then  tattoo  sounded  and  the  six  villains  set« 
out  on  a  run  for  the  camp. 

Now  Parson  Stanard's  scholarly  features  were  solemn 
enough  under  any  circumstances;  when  there  was  any- 
thing to  make  them  still  more  so  he  was  a  sight  to  behold. 
This  was  the  case  that  evening,  for  the  Parson,  when  he 
fell  into  line,  was  looking  as  if  the  future  destiny  of  the 
universe  were  resting  upon  his  shoulders,  and  his  hilarious 
comrades  were  scarcely  able  to  keep  from  bursting  into 
laughter  every  time  they  glanced  at  him. 


Stanard's  Strange  Visitor.  67 

He  was  too  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  to  notice  them, 
however.  He  was  so  much  occupied  by  speculations 
upon  the  mystery  of  that  weird  old  man  that  he  forgot 
for  a  moment  to  answer  to  his  name  at  roll  call,  and  had 
to  be  poked  in  the  ribs  to  wake  him  up.  Then  the  line 
melted  away,  and  still  solemn  he  marched  into  his  tent 
and  gathered  his  "wondering"  fellow-devils  about  him. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I  have  a  tale  to  tell  you.  I  have 
this  da^,  this  very  hour,  met  with  an  adventure,  preter- 
natural or  supernatural,  that  exceeds  the  capacities  of  the 
human  intellectualities  to  appreciate.  Gentlemen,  I  am 
no  believer  in  signs  or  auguries ;  but  never  did  the  oracle 
of  Delphi  or  the  Sibyl  of  Cumea  promulgate  a  prophecy 
more  extraordinary  than  one " 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter?"  cried  the  six,  in  obvious 
amazement. 

"You  seen  a  ghost?"  inquired  Texas. 

"No,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Parson.  "But  I  have  seen 
some  one  or  something  that  I  should  be  glad  to  know 
was  a  ghost,  something  more  marvelous  than  any  hitherto 
recorded,  spiritualistic  manifestation.  And  I  am  sorely 
perplexed." 

After  this  and  a  little  more  of  similar  introduction  tHe 


68  Stanard's  Strange  Visitor. 

Parson  finally  managed  to  get  down  to  business  and  tell 
to  his  horrified  (oh,  yes!)  companions  the  tale  of  his 
adventure. 

"Say  look  a-here,  Parson,"  demanded  Texas,  when  he 
had  finished,  "you  expect  us  to  believe  that  aire  yarn?" 

"That's  what  I  say!"  added  Mark.  "He's  trying  to 
fool  us." 

"Gentlemen,"  protested  the  other,  "do  I  look  like  a 

I 

man  who  was  joking?" 

h 

He  didn't  for  a  fact;  he  looked  like  a  man  who  had 
been  through  a  flour  mill. 

"But  that  don't  make  any  difference,"  vowed  Mark. 
"You're  just  putting  on  thet  face  to  help  deceive  us." 

"By  Zeus!"  exclaimed  the  Parson.  "Gentlemen,  I 
swear  to  you  that  I  am  serious.  I  swear  it  by  the  bones 
of  my  grandfather.  I  swear " 

"Make  it  grandmother,"  hinted  Texas. 

"I  swear  it  by  the  poisons  of  Colchia,"  continued  the 
other  indignantly.  "By  the  waters  of  the  Styx,  by  the 
sands  of  the  Pactolus,  by  the  spells  of  Medea,  by  the 
thunderbolts  of  Jove,  by  the  sandals  of  Mercury " 

The  Parson  would  probably  have  continued  swearing 
by  everything  known  to  mythology,  keeping  up  until 


Stanard's  Strange  Visitor.  69 

"taps"  stopped  him.  But  by  that  time  the  conspirators 
saw  fit  to  believe  him. 

"This  is  an  extraordinary  state  of  affairs,"  said  Mark, 
solemnly.  "Really,  fellows,  do  you  know  I  think  we 
ought  to  go?" 

"B'gee,  so  do  I,"  cried  Dewey. 

"I  was  about  to  extend  you  an  invitation,"  said  the 
Parson.  "For  my  part  I  am  determined  to  go  this  very 
night.  Nothing  shall  stop  me,  gentlemen.  My  mind  is 
made  up.  That  treasure,  revealed  to  me  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, I  am  determined  to  secure,  and  that  in  spite  of 
whatever  dangers  I  may  meet,  whatever  foes  may  oppose 
me,  whatever " 

"Bully  for  the  Parson !"  whispered  Texas.  "He's  git- 
tin'  spunky." 

"We  are  by  no  means  the  first,"  said  the  solemn  scholar, 
"to  undertake  a  dangerous  search  for  wealth.  The 
ancient  poets  sang  of  Jason  and  the  Argonauts  and  the 
Search  for  the  Golden  Fleece." 

"This  yere's  the  biggest  golden  'fleece'  of  any  of  Jem," 
observed  Texas,  slyly.  6ut  the  Parson  didn't  hear  that. 

He  continued  all  innocent  and  unsuspecting  as  ever. 
And  when  the  Seven  went  to  sleep  at  last  it  was  with  a 


70  Stanard's  Strange  Visitor. 

solemn  promise  on  their  lips  to  be  up  and  doing  in  time 
to  reach  the  "cave"  by  midnight. 

As  for  the  Parson,  he  did  not  sleep  at  all ;  he  was  too 
excited.  The  Parson  was  in  a  regular  Captain  Kidd  hu- 
mor that  night.  Gold!  Gold!  He  waited  impatiently 
until  the  "tac"  had  inspected  after  taps,  and  then  he 
turned  over  on  his  back -and  stared  at  the  roof  of  the 
tent  and  lay  thinking  over  the  extraordinary  adventure  he 
had  met  with,  and  the  still  more  extraordinary  adventures 
that  were  likely  to  result  from  it.  He  was  even  going 
so  far  as  to  speculate  what  he  was  going  to  do  with  his 
wealth.  He'd  divide  it  among  the  rest,  of  course.  And 
what  magnificent  fossils  he  was  going  to  purchase  with 
his  share! 

He  had  not  long  to  dwell  over  that,  however.  It  was 
two  good  miles  through  the  woods  to  that  cave,  and  it 
might  take  them  some  time  to  find  it  besides.  And  not  to 
be  there  at  twelve  would  be  a  calamity  indeed.  The 
Parson  hadn't  a  very  clear  idea  why  he  must  dig  at  mid- 
night particularly,  but  he  thought  it  best  to  obey  orders 
and  ask  no  questions.  So  very  soon  after  he  heard  the 
sentry  call  the  hour  of  half-past  ten  he  sprang  up  and 
awakened  his  fellow  treasure  hunters. 


Stanard's  Strange  Visitor.  71 

Indian  was  on  guard  that  night;  and  so  the  six  re- 
maining who  were  to  conduct  the  expedition,  found  no 
trouble  in  stealing  out  of  camp.  They  arose  and  dressed 
hastily,  and  then,  not  without  some  little  nervousness 
lest  their  absence  should  be  noticed,  they  stole  across  their 
friend's  sentry  beat  and  made  a  dash  for  the  woods. 

Parson  Stanard's  gold-hunting  expedition  was  started. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN   UNEXPECTED   RESULT. 

The  walk  through  that  mountain  forest  was  one  to  be 
remembered  for  some  time.  In  the  first  place,  the  Parson 
had  been  provident  enough  to  fee  a  drum  orderly  to  steal 
him  a  spade  and  hide  it.  The  Parson  insisted  upon  carry- 
ing that  spade  himself,  for  that  was  what  the  old  man 
had  said.  And  the  Parson  was  careful  to  carry  it  upon  his 
shoulder,  too.  It  was  surprising  how  superstitious  he  had 
suddenly  become;  during  the  dismal  trip  he  enlivened 
them  by  a  classic  discussion  of  the  scientific  evidence  for 
and  against  ghosts,  goblins,  and  magic. 

"But,  gentlemen,"  he  said  solemnly,  "one  such  experi- 
ence as  this  of  mine  convinces  a  man  more  than  ten 
thousand  arguments,  yea,  by  Zeus !" 

Here  Texas  went  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  which  for- 
tunately wound  up  in  a  coughing  fit  and  so  excited  no 
suspicions.  i 

Did  you  ever  try  to  walk  through  a  black  woods  at 
night — a  really  dark  night?  Rocks  and  logs  seem  just 
built  to  catch  your  shins;  bushes  and  cobwebs  for  your 


An  Unexpected  Result.  73 

eyes.    And  every  one  in  the  party  vows  that  the  way  they 
ought  to  go  is  off  there.    The  six  wandered  about  desper- 
ately, time  fairly  flying  and  the  excited  guide  and  treas- 
i 

ure  hunter  getting  more  and  more  fearful  lest  the  hour 
should  have  passed. 

It  seemed  almost  by  a  miracle  that  they  finally  reached 
the  cliff  in  which  lay  the  cave.  The  entrance  was  a  bush- 
covered  hole  in  the  rocks  some  ten  feet  from  the  ground. 
The  Parson  lost  not  a  moment  in  clambering  up  and 
getting  in,  for  he  was  in  a  hurry. 

The  five  others,  still  chuckling  joyfully  over  the  success 
of  their  deception,  followed  him  in  one  after  another. 
The  party  had  plenty  of  matches  and  candles  provided  this 
time,  and  so  one  of  the  lamps  in  the  uncanny  place  was 
soon  lighted,  and  then  they  were  ready  for  work. 

The  Parson,  businesslike  and  solemn,  hauled  out  his 
watch. 

'Three  minutes/'  he  said.    "Just  in  time." 

He  passed  the  watch  to  Mark  without  another  word. 
Mark  held  it  in  his  hand  to  give  the  signal  and  the  Parson 
whipped  off  his  coat  and  seized  the  shovel  with  a  des- 
perate grip. 

"You'll  have  to  cut  the  carpet,"  said  one  of  them. 


74  An  Unexpected  Result. » 

The  Parson  had  thought  of  that;  he  hauled  a  huge 
clasp  knife  from  under  his  jacket.  Mark  considered  it 
a  shame  to  spoil  the  place  that  way,  and  for  a  moment 
he  thought  of  telling  and  stopping  the  fun.  But  by  that 
time  the  thoroughly  excited  geologist  was  down  on  his 
knees  carving  out  a  slice. 

He  had  lit  the  lamp,  according  to  the  directions.  Its 
shadow,  of  course,  fell  right  underneath,  and  there  the 
Parson  was  about  to  work. 

There  was  a  strange  scene  at  that  moment,  if  any  one 
had  been  there  to  see  it.  First  there  was  the  mysterious 
dimly-lit  cave ;  underneath  the  solitary  light  stood  the  ex- 
cited figure  of  the  long-haired  Boston  genius,  his  eyes 
glittering,  his  hand  trembling.  He  clutched  the  spade 
with  determination,  and  gazed  anxiously  at  Mark,  like  a 
racer  awaiting  the  signal.  The  five  others  were  standing 
about  him,  winking  at  each  other  slyly,  and  egging  the 
Parson  merrily  on.  Oh,  how  they  did  mean  to  make  him 
dig! 

It  was  a  solemn  moment  for  the  Parson.  To  say  noth- 
ing of  the  treasure  he  meant  to  find  there  was  his  scientific 
interest  in  the  experiment,  testing  the  old  "wizard's" 
learning.  Then  suddenly  Mark  Mallory  looked  up. 


An  Unexpected  Result  75 

"Now!"  said  he. 

And  the  Parson  jammed  his  spade  into  the  ground  the 
same  instant.  The  great  treasure  hunt  had  begun. 
^  Fairly  bubbling  over  with  fun,  the  conspirators  gath- 
ered about  him,  stooping  down  and  staring  anxiously, 
jumping  about  and  exclaiming  excitedly,  and  above  all 
urging  the  workman  to  still  greater  haste. 

"Dig!    Dig!"  they  cried. 

And  you  can  rest  assured  the  Parson  did  dig!  His 
long  bony  arms  were  flying  like  a  machine.  Beads  of 
perspiration  gathered  on  his  classic  brow;  his  breath 
came  in  gasps  that  choked  off  his  numerous  learned  ex- 
clamations. And  yet  he  kept  on,  flinging  the  dirt  in  show- 
ers about  the  room  until  the0place  began  to  look  as  if  a 
sandstorm  had  struck  it.  The  Parson  was  working  as 
never  had  a  parson  worked  before. 

The  others  gave  him  little  chance  to  rest,  either;  they 
kept  up  his  frenzy  of  excitement  by  every  means  they 
4  could  think  of.  But  such  working  as  that  was  bound  to 
end  soon,  for  even  geological  muscles  can't  stand  every- 
thing. In  this  case  the  end  came  of  its  own  accord,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  the  hole  got  too  deep.  In  his  wild 
excitement  Stanard  had  dug  only  a  narrow  one;  and  by 


76  An  Unexpected  Result. 

and  by  he  got  down  so  far  that  he  could  barely  reach  the 
bottom  with  the  end  of  his  shovel.    Then  he  stopped. 

"By  Zeus!"  he  gasped,  "Gentlemen,  this  is — outrage- 
ous!" 

"A  shame!"  cried  Mark.    "What  are  we  going  to  do?  \ 
Hurry  up,  it's  away  after  midnight." 

The  Parson  gazed  around  him  wildly;  he  was  as  anx- 
ious to  hurry  as  any  one,  but  he  didn't  know  what  to 
hurry  at. 

"Wow !"  growled  Texas.  "Why  don't  you  fellers  hurry 
up  thar?  Whar's  that  air  treasure?  Did  you  bring  me 
'way  out  hyar  to  git  nothin'  ?" 

This  and  dozens  of  similar  remarks  got  the  Parson 
very  much  discouraged  and  disgusted  indeed. 

"Gentlemen!"  he  protested,  "I  cannot  help  it,  I  really 
cannot !  I  swear  to  you  by  all  the  inhabitants  of  Tartaeus 
that  if  I  knew  what  to  do  I  should  do  it  with  all  possible 
celerity.  But  what " 

"I  don't  believe  there's  any  treasure  there,"  growled 
Texas.  "It's  all  a  fake." 

"That's  what  I  say,  too,  b'gee !"  cried  Dewey.  "I  just 
believe  the  Parson  wanted  to  show  us  he  knew  how  to 


An  Unexpected  Result.  77 

dig  graves.  I  wish  I  were  asleep  in  my  tent!  Reminds 
me  of  a  story  I  once  heard,  b'gee " 

"Don't  tell  us  any  stories,"  exclaimed  Mark  with 
feigned  anger.  "The  Parson  has  told  us  enough  for  one 
night.  This  is  outrageous." 

The  poor  Parson  had  sunk  into  a  chair  in  exhaustion 
and  resignation.  Evidently  there  was  no  more  fun  to  be 
gotten  out  of  him,  Mark  thought,  and  was  about  to 
propose  returning  to  camp,  when  suddenly  another  idea 
flashed  across  him. 

"Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly.  "I  didn't  think  of 
that!" 

The  Parson  sprang  up  again  with  a  sudden  renewal  of 
interest  and  life. 

"What  is  it?"  he  cried.    "What  is  it?" 

"I've  got  an  idea!"  shouted  Mark.  "Ye  gods!  Why 
didn't  I  think  of  that  before.  I  know  why  we  haven't 
found  the  treasure !" 

The  Parson's  excitement  was  genuine;  the  others  joined 
in  with  his  exclamations  to  keep  up  the  effect. 

"What  is  it  ?"  they  cried,  yet  more  loudly. 

"Did  that  wizard  tell  you  to  light  the  lamp?"  Mark  de- 
manded of  the  Parson. 


78  An  Unexpected  Result. 

"N — no,"  stammered  the  other,  obviously  puzzled,  "but 
how  else  could  it  have  a  shadow?" 

For  an  answer  Mark  sprang  forward  and  extinguished 
the  lamp.  Then  he  turned  and  cried  triumphantly : 

"Look!" 

In  the  partial  darkness  the  light  of  the  moon,  coming  in 
through  the  hole,  alone  was  visible.  It  struck  the  lamp 
right  full  and  cast  a  deep  black  shadow  over  in  one  corner 
of  the  cave,  close  to  the  wall. 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Mark  dramatically.  "There's  the 
spot!" 

"B'gee!"  cried  Dewey,  falling  in  with  the  scheme. 
"So  it  is!  And  that's  why  he  told  you  to  dig  at  mid- 
night, b'gee !" 

Already  the  Parson  had  seized  his  spade  and  made  a 
regular  kangaroo  leap  for  the  place.  Before  his  hilarious 
comrades  could  even  start  to  follow  he  had  broken  ground 
once  more  and  was  flinging  the  dirt  about  with  even  more 
reckless  eagerness. 

"Go  it,  go  it !"  roared  the  rest. 

The  crowd  gathered  about  him  in  a  circle,  clapping  their 
hands,  dancing  about,  and  shouting  like  "rooters"  at  a 
baseball  game  in  the  oft-quoted  case  of  "the  ninth  inning, 


An  Unexpected  Result.  79 

two  out,  score  a  tie,"  etc.  And  never  did  a  batter  "lam 
her  out"  with  more  vigor  than  the  treasure-hunting 
scholar  "lammed  her"  into  that  ground. 

They  reached  the  two-foot  mark,  and  then  began  the 
same  trouble  of  inability  to  reach  the  bottom. 

"Better  make  it  bigger,  b'gee,"  laughed  Dewey.  "Don't 
give  up.  If  it  don't  work  this  time,  b'gee,  we'll  light  every 
other  lamp  in  the  place  and  try  their  shadows.  And 
then " 

And  then  with  an  exclamation  of  excitement  the  Par- 
son sprang  back. 

"I've  struck  something !"  he  cried. 

"Whoop!"  roared  the  crowd  chuckling.  "We've  found 
the  treasure !  Hooray !" 

"It's  hard,"  panted  the  excited  Stanard. 

"It's  as  hard  as  a  rock,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Mark,  with  a  sly 
wink.  And  then  he  added  under  his  breath,  "A  rock  it  is." 

But  the  Parson  was  too  busy  to  hear  that.  He  was 
working  feverishly,  plunging  his  spade  into  the  ground, 
flinging  out  the  earth,  occasionally  hitting  the  object  with 
a  sharp  sound  that  made  him  get  more  overjoyed  and  the 
rest  get  more  convulsed  with  laughter. 

Truly  the  solemn  Parson  digging  a  trench  was  a  most 


8o  An  Unexpected  Result. 

ludicrous  sight;  his  next  move  was  more  ludicrous  still. 
He  got  down  on  his  stomach,  flat,  and  reached  into  the 
ground. 

"Whoop !"  roared  Texas,  "it's  good  he's  got  long  arms ! 
Hooray,  we've  got  our  treasure !" 

"Yes,  by  Zeus!"  cried  the  Parson,  springing  up  and 
facing  them.  His  next  words  almost  took  them  off  their 
feet,  and  no  wonder.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said,  solemnly, 
"we  have  got  a  treasure !  It's  got  a  handle !" 

The  five  stared  at  each  other  in  dumb  amazement. 

"A  handle !"  they  echoed.    "A  handle !" 

And  then  Mark  flung  himself  to  the  ground,  and 
reached  in. 

When  he  got  up  again  it  was  with  a  look  on  his  face 
that  struck  the  others  into  a  heap. 

"Fellows,"  he  cried,  "as  I  live,  it  has  got  a  handle !" 

The  Parson  of  course  was  not  in  the  least  surprised; 
it  was  what  he  had  been  expecting  all  along.  What  sur- 
prised him  was  their  surprise,  and  incredulity,  and  blank 
amazement.  Each  one  of  them  must  needs  stoop  and 
verify  Mark's  extraordinary  statement,  learn  that  there 
was  something  down  there  with  a  handle  for  a  fact.  And 
then,  as  completely  subdued  and  serious  as  ever  were 


An  Unexpected  Result.  81 

merry  jokers  they  took  the  spade  from  the  exhausted 
Stanard  and  set  to  work  to  dig  with  real  earnestness,  and 
in  silence.  No  exclamation  they  could  think  of  came 
anywhere  near  expressing  their  state  of  mind. 

They  widened  the  hole  the  Parson  had  made,  and  thus  k 
exposed  one  corner  of  the  object,  which  proved  to  be 
a  wooden  chest,  of  what  size  they  could  not  tell.  And  that 
discovery  completed  the  indescribable  consternation  of  the 
five.  There  never  was  a  joke  stopped  much  more  ab- 
ruptly than  that  one. 

They  continued  digging;  to  make  a  long  story  short 
they  dug  for  half  an  hour  steadily,  and  by  that  time 
had  succeeded  In  disclosing  the  box  which  was  over  two 
feet  long  and  surrounded  by  hard  clay.  Having  freed 
it,  Mark  sprang  down  and  tried  to  life  it;  he  failed,  and 
they  dug  the  hole  yet  wider  still.  Then,  fairly  burning 
up  with  excitement  and  curiosity  and  eagerness,  the  whole 
five  got  down  into  the  ditch  and  lifted  out  the  chest. 

It  cost  them  quite  an  effort  even  then;  but  they  got  it 
out  at  last  and  gathered  around  it,  staring  curiously,  whis- 
pering anxiously.  It  was  locked  firmly,  that  they  could 
see.  But  the  wood  was  rotten  and  Mark  seized  the  shovel 
and  knocked  the  hinges  off  the  back  with  one  quick  blow. 


82  An  Unexpected  Result 

Then  the  six  stood  and  stared  at  each  other,  each  one  of 
them  hesitating  for  a  moment  before  revealing  that  un- 
canny mystery. 

That  did  not  last  very  long,  however.  Mark  grasped 
the  lid  firmly  and  wrenched  it  back.  And  as  one  man 
the  six  leaped  forward  to  glance  in. 

"Gold!" 

The  cry  burst  from  throats  of  every  one  of  them  at 
once.  They  sprang  back  and  gazed  at  each  other  in 
amazement.  For  that  huge  chest  was  fairly  brimming 
over  with  five-dollar  gold  pieces ! 

Oh,  what  a  scene  there  was  for  the  next  ten  minutes, 
The  cadets  were  fairly  wild.  They  stooped  and  gazed 
at  the  treasure  greedily.  They  ran  their  fingers  through 
it  incredulously ;  they  danced  about  the  cave  in  the  wildest 
jubilation.  For  there  was  in  that  chest  money  enough 
to  make  each  one  of  them  rich. 

And  then  suddenly  an  idea  flashed  over  Mark.  This 
was  a  counterfeiter's  cave ! 

"Is  it  genuine?"  he  cried. 

Quick  as  a  wink  the  Parson  whipped  two  bottles  from 
under  his  coat. 


An  "Unexpected  Result.  83 

"I  thought  of  that,"  he  said.    "Yea,  by  Zeus !    One  is 

for  gold,  one  silver." 

He  wrenched  the  stopper  out  of  one  bottle  and  stopped 
eagerly,  the  seven  staring  in  horror. 

"If  it's  gold)"  he  cried,  "it'll  turn  green!" 

He  snatched  up  one,  and  poured  the  acid  over  it.  And 
the  six  broke  into  a  wild  cheer  as  they  saw  the  color 
come. 

"Try  another !"  cried  Mark. 

For  answer  the  Parson  sprang  forward  and  poured  the 
contents  of  the  «bottle  over  the  coins.  Everywhere  it 
touched  the  tarnished  metal  it  showed  the  reaction.  And 
the  six  locked  arms  and  did  a  war 'dance  about  the  place. 

" We're  rich !"  they  cried.    "We're  rich !" 

And  then  they  stole  back  to  camp  again. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DISCOVERY  OF  THE   LOSS. 

"This  is  where  you  wake  up  and  find  yourself  rich; 
how  do  you  like  it?" 

Mark,  who  asked  the  question,  was  yawning  sleepily 
as  he  sat  up  from  his  bed,  a  pile  of  blankets  on  the  floor 
of  his  tent.  It  was  about  five  o'clock  Sunday  morning, 
and  the  booming  echo  of  the  reveille  gun  was  still  upon 
the  air.  Down  by  the  color  line  a  drum  was  still  rattling, 
with  a  fife  to  keep  it  company.  And  throughout  the 
camp  cadets  were  springing  up  to  dress,  just  as  were  the 
four  we  noticed. 

There  is  no  tent  room  in  West  Point  for  the  man  who 
likes  to  lie  in  bed  and  doze  for  half  an  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing; cadets  have  five  minutes  to  dress  in,  and  they  have 
to  be  out  in  the  company  street  lined  up  for  roll  call  at  the 
end  of  that  time.  And  there  is  no  danger  of  their  failing 
about  it,  either.  They  tell  a  good  story  up  there  about 
one  fond  mother  who  introduced  her  young  hopeful,  a 
soon-to-be  plebe,  to  the  commandant  of  cadets,  and  hoped 
that  they  wouldn't  have  any  trouble  getting  "Montmorency 


Discovery  of  the  Loss.  85 

dear"  up  in  the  morning;  they  never  could  get  him  up 
at  home. 

But  to  return  to  the  four  A  Company  plebes  who  were 
meanwhile  flinging  on  their  clothes  and  performing  their 
hasty  toilets. 

The  lad  who  propounded  the  question  was  Mark,  as 
said  before.  The  one  who  answered  it  was  Jeremiah 
Powers,  and  Texas  vowed  he  liked  being  rich  mighty  well. 
He  got  no  chance  to  explain  why  or  wherefore,  however, 
for  by  that  time  he  was  outside  of  the  tent,  and  the  re- 
splendent cadet  officer  was  giving  his  stentorian  order : 

"  'Tenshun,  company !" 

At  which  signal  the  merry  groups  of  cadets  changed 
into  an  immovable  line  of  figures  stiff  as  ramrods. 

The  plebes  had  come  back  to  camp  late  last  night,  or 
rather  early  this  same  morning,  scarcely  able  to  realize 
what  had  happened.  They  were  still  striving  to  realize 
it  all  as  they  sat  whispering  to  each  other  in  mess  hall. 
They  were  rich,  all  of  them.  How  much  they  had  none 
of  them  had  any  idea.  The  learned  Parson  had  informed 
them — and  he  didn't  have  to  go  to  a  book  to  find  it  out, 
either,  that  a  pound  of  gold  is  worth  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  Allowing  two  hundred  pounds  to  that  box, 


86  Discovery  of  the  Loss. 

which  was  a  modest  guess  indeed,  left  some  seven  thou- 
sand dollars  to  each  of  them,  a  truly  enormous  fortune 
for  a  boy,  especially  a  West  Point  plebe  who  is  supposed 
to  have  no  use  for  money  at  all. 

Cadets  do  their  purchasing  on  "check-book,"  as  it  is 
called,  and  their  bills  are  deducted  from  their  salaries. 
And  though  they  do  smuggle  in  some  contraband  bills 
occasionally  they  have  no  way  of  making  use  of  large 
sums.  This  was  the  problem  the  Banded  Seven  were  dis- 
cussing through  the  meal  and  while  they  were  busily 
sprucing  up  their  tents  for  "Sunday  morning  inspection." 

Texas  was  for  quitting  "the  ole  place"  at  a  jump  and 
making  for  the  plains  where  a  fellow  could  have  a  little 
fun  when  he  wanted  to.  The  fact  that  he  had  signed  an 
"engagement  for  service,"  or  any  such  trifle  as  that, 
made  no  difference  to  him,  and  in  fact  there  is  little 
doubt  that  he  would  have  skipped  that  morning  had  it 
not  been  for  one  fact — he  couldn't  leave  Mark. 

"Doggone  his  boots!"  growled  Texas,  "ef  he  had  any 
nerve  he'd  come  along!  But  ef  he  won't,  I  s'pose  I  got 
to  let  that  air  money  lie  idle." 

After  which  disconsolate  observation  Texas  fell  to  pol- 


Discovery  of  the  Loss.  87 

ishing  the  mirror  that  hung  on  his  tent  pole  and  said 
nothing  more. 

"Think  of  Texas  running  away!"  laughed  Mark. 
"Think  of  him  not  having  Corporal  Jasper  to  come  in  on 
Sunday  mornings  and  lecture  him  for  talking  too  much 
instead  of  sprucing  up  his  tent  as  a  cadet  should.  Think 
of  his  not  having  Captain  Fisher  to  march  him  'round  to 
church  after  that  and  civilize  him !  Think  of  the  yearlings 
having  nobody  to  lick  'em  any  more!  Think  of  Bull 
Harris,  our  beloved  enemy,  who  hates  us  worse  than  I 
do  warm  cod  liver  oil,  having  nobody  to  fool  him  every 
once  in  a  while  and  get  him  wild  1" 

Mark  observed  by  that  time  from  the  twitching  in  his 
excitable  friend's  fingers  and  the  light  that  danced  in  his 
eye  that  his  last  hit  had  drawn  blood.  Texas  was  cured 
in  a  moment  of  all  desire  to  leave  West  Point.  For  was 
not  Bull  Harris,  "that  ole  coyote  of  a  yearlin',"  a  low, 
cowardly  rascal  who  had  tried  every  contemptible  trick 
upon  Mark  that  his  ingenuity  could  invent,  and  who 
hadn't  had  half  his  malignity  and  envy  knocked  out  of 
him  yet  ?  And  Texas  go  away  ?  Not  much ! 

Parson  Stanard  was  heard  from  next.  The  Parson 
knew  of  a  most  extraordinary  collection  of  fossils  from 


88  Discovery  of  the  Loss. 

the  Subcarboniferous  period.  The  Parson  had  been  sav- 
ing up  for  a  year  to  buy  those  fossils,  and  now  he  meant 
to  do  it.  He  swore  it  by  Zeus,  and  by  Apollo,  and  by 
each  one  of  the  "Olympians"  in  turn.  Also  the  Parson 
meant  to  do  something  handsome  by  that  wonderful 
Cyathophylloid  coral  found  by  him  in  a  sandstone  of  Ter- 
tiary origin.  The  Parson  thought  it  would  be  a  good 
idea  to  get  up  a  little  pamphlet  on  that  most  marvelous 
specimen,  a  pamphlet  treating  very  learnedly  upon  the 
"distribution  of  the  Cyathophylloid  according  to  previous 
geological  investigations  and  the  probable  revolutionary 
and  monumental  effects  of  the  new  modifications  thereof." 
The  Parson  had  an  idea  he'd  have  a  high  old  time  writing 
that  treatise. 

Further  discourse  as  to  the  probable  uses  of  the  treasure 
was  cut  short  by  the  entrance  of  the  inspecting  officer, 
who  scattered  slaughter  and  trembling  from  his  eye.  Me- 
thusalem  Z.  Chilvers,  "the  farmer,"  alias  Sleepy,  the 

fourth  occupant  of  the  tent,  was  responsible  for  disorder 

* 

that  week  and  the  way  he  caught  it  was  heartrending. 
He  was  so  disgusted  that  as  usual  he  vowed  he  was 
going  to  take  his  money  back  to  Kansas  and  raise 


Discovery  of  the  Loss.  89 

"craps."     After  which  the  drum  sounded  and  they  all 
marched  down  to  chapel. 

A  delightful  feeling  of  independence  comes  with  know- 
ing you  are  rich.  Perhaps  you  have  never  tried  it,  but  the 
Seven  were  trying  it  just  then.  They  beamed  down  con- 
tentedly on  irate  cadet  corporals  and  unfriendly  yearlings 
with  an  air  of  conscious  superiority  that  seemed  to  say, 
"If  you  only  knew."  Of  the  Seven  there  were  only  two 
who  were  at  all  used  to  the  sensation  of  being  wealthy. 
Texas'  "dad,"  "the  Honorable  Scrap  Powers,  o'  Hurricane 
County,"  owned  a  few  hundred  thousand  head  of  cattle, 
and  Chauncey,  "the  dude,"  was  a  millionaire  from  New 
York ;  but  all  the  others  were  quite  poor.  Mark  was  cal- 
culating just  then  what  a  satisfaction  he  meant  to  have  in 
sending  some  of  that  money  to  his  widowed  mother,  to 
whom  it  would  be  a  very  welcome  present  indeed. 

He  was  thinking  of  that  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon, 
when  church  and  likewise  dinner  had  passed,  leaving  the 
?  plebes  at  leisure.  And  so  he  proposed  to  them  that  they 
take  a  walk  to  pass  the  time  and  incidentally  bring  some 
of  that  buried  wealth  back  with  them.  Nothing  could 
have  suited  the  Seven  better,  as  it  happened.  They  were 
all  anxiety  again  to  get  up  to  that  cave  and  hear  those 


90  Discovery  of  the  Loss. 

gold  coins  jingle  once  more.     To  cut  the  story  short, 
they  went. 

It  was  a  merry  party  that  set  out  through  the  woods 
that  afternoon.  The  Seven  were  usually  merry,  as  we 
know,  but  they  had  extra  causes  just  then.  Everything 
was  going  about  as  well  for  them  as  things  in  the  world 
could  be  expected  to  go.  And  besides  this,  Parson 
Stanard,  who  was  a  wellspring  of  fun  at  all  times,  was 
in  one  of  his  most  solemn  and  therefore  laughable  moods 
at  present. 

The  thought  had  occurred  to  the  Parson,  as  his  first 
sordid  flush  of  delight  at  having  wealth  had  passed,  that 
after  all  he  was  in  a  very  unscholarly  condition  indeed. 
The  very  idea  of  a  man  of  learning  being  rich !  Why  it 
was  preposterous;  where  was  all  the  starving  in  garrets 
of  genius  and  the  pinching  poverty  that  was  always  the 
fate  of  the  true  patrons  of  Minerva.  That  worried  the 
Parson  more  than  you  can  imagine;  he  felt  himself  a 
traitor  to  his  chosen  profession.  And  with  much  solemn 
abjurgation  and  considerable  classical  circumlocution  he 
called  the  Seven's  attention  to  that  deplorable  state  of 
affairs.  Search  the  records  of  history  as  he  could,  the 
Parson  could  not  find  a  parallel  for  his  own  unfortunate 


Discovery  of  the  Loss.  91 

condition.  And  he  wound  up  the  afternoon's  discussion 
by  wishing,  yea,  by  Zeus,  that  he  could  be  poor  and  happy 
once  more. 

Dewey  suggested  very  solemnly  that  nobody  was  going 
to  compel  the  unfortunate  Parson  to  claim  his  share, 
"b'gee" ;  that  he  (Dewey)  would  be  pleased  to  take  it  if  he 
were  only  paid  enough  to  make  it  worth  while.  But 
somehow  or  other  the  Parson  didn't  fall  into  that  plan  very 
readily ;  perhaps  he  didn't  think  Dewey  really  meant  it. 

Still  chatting  merrily,  the  Seven  made  their  way  through 
the  mile  or  two  of  woods  that  lay  between  the  post  and 
the  cave. 

As  they  drew  near  to  the  opening  the  plebes  were 
startled  to  notice  that  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  rock 
was  marked  and  torn  with  footprints. 

The  Seven  had  not  done  that,  they  knew,  for  they  had 
been  of  all  things  most  careful  to  leave  not  the  least  trace 
that  should  lead  any  one  to  suspect  the  presence  of  their 
secret  cavern.  And  consequently  when  they  saw  the 
state  of  the  ground  there  was  but  one  thought,  a  horrible 
thought  that  flashed  over  every  one  of  them.  Somebody 
had  been  in  their  cave !  And  during  the  night ! 

Almost  as  one  man,  the  Seven  made  a  dash  for  the 


92  Discovery  of  the  Loss. 

entrance,  scrambling  up  the  rocks.  There  was  never  a 
thought  of  danger  in  the  mind  of  any  one  of  them,  never 
a  thought  that  perhaps  some  accomplice  of  the  dead  coun- 
terfeiters had  come  to  get  the  gold,  might  now  be  inside, 
armed  against  the  intruders.  They  had  time  to  think  of 
but  one  thing.  Somebody  had  seen  them  go  in  last 
night,  had  seen  them  find  the  treasure!  And  now — • 
and  now  ? 

Texas  was  the  first  of  them  to  get  to  the  entrance,  for 
Mark  was  still  lame  with  his  injured  arm.  He  flung  his 
body  through  the  hole,  half  falling  to  the  floor  on  the 
other  side.  The  rest  heard  him  stumbling  about  and  they 
halted,  silent,  every  one  of  them,  scarcely  breathing  for 
anxiety  and  suspense.  They  heard  Texas  strike  a  match. 
They  heard  him  run  across  the  floor 

And  a  moment  later  came  a  cry  that  struck  them  almost 
dumb  with  horror. 

"Boys,  the  money's  all  gone  I" 


CHAPTER  X. 

DISCOVERY  OF  THE   THIEF. 

The  state  of  mind  of  the  Seven  cannot  be  described. 
A  moment  before  they  had  been  upon  a  pinnacle  of  success 
and  happiness.  And  now  it  seemed  that  they  had  climbed 
but  that  their  fall  might  be  all  the  more  unbearable.  All 
their  ambitions  and  plans,  all  the  fun  they  meant  to  have 
— it  was  too  terrible  to  be  true ! 

It  was  half  with  a  feeling  of  incredulity  that  one  after 
another  they  climbed  up  to  the  opening  and  went  in.  Not 
one  of  them  could  quite  bring  himself  to  believe  that  the 
whole  thing  was  not  a  horrible  delusion,  a  nightmare. 
But  when  they  got  inside  they  found  that  it  was  too  true. 

There  was  the  deep  trench  that  Parson  Stanard  had 
dug;  there  was  the  spade  he  had  dug  it  with,  the  tracks 
of  the  others  who  had  gathered  anxiously  about  to  watch 
him.  There  was  even  one  of  the  bright  glittering  gold 
pieces  half  hidden  in  the  dirt,  a  horrible  mockery,  as  it 
appeared  to  them ;  for  the  big  wooden  chest  that  had  been 
full  to  the  brim  with  gold  pieces,  was  gone,  and  the 


94  Discovery  of  the  Thief. 

money  with  it.  And  all  the  hopes  of  the  Banded  Seven 
were  gone,  too. 

At  first  they  stood  and  stared,  gasping;  and  then  they 
gazed  about  the  place  in  horror,  thinking  that  surely  they 
they  must  find  the  chest  lying  somewhere  else.  But  it 
was  not  there.  They  dashed  around  the  room,  hunting  in 
every  corner  of  the  place,  even  in  the  locked  cell,  where 
the  ghastly  skeletons  lay  grinning  at  them  as  if  in  delight. 
But  there  was  not  a  sign  of  the  chest,  nor  of  any  one  who 
could  have  taken  it. 

And  then  suddenly  Mark  noticed  a  footprint  in  the  soft 
earth  just  underneath  the  entrance  that  told  him  the  story. 

"They've  taken  it  out !"  he  cried. 

Feverish  with  disappointment  and  impatience,  the 
Seven  scrambled  out  again  through  the  hole.  There  on 
the  ground  was  the  same  footprint,  larger  than  any  of 
theirs.  It  did  not  take  half  an  eye  to  see  that.  There,  too, 
was  a  great  three-cornered  dent  in  the  ground,  showing 
where  the  chest  had  been  dropped.  And  there  were  finger 
marks  of  the  hand  that  had  scooped  up  the  fallen  coins 
to  put  them  back  into  the  chest. 

Texas,  plainsman  and  cowboy,  had  often  told  stories 
of  how  he  had  followed  a  half-washed  out  trail  for  miles 


Discovery  of  the  Thief.  95 

across  «an  otherwise  trackless  prairie.  He  was  on  his 
knees  now  studying  every  mark  and  sign,  his  eyes  fairly 
starting  from  his  head  with  excitement.  And  suddenly 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  as  he  noticed  a  trail  a  short  way 
off,  a  deep,  smooth  rut  worn  in  the  earth. 

"A  wheelbarrow !"  roared  he. 

A  wheelbarrow  it  was,  for  a  fact.  And  the  track  of  it 
lay  through  the  woods  to  the  river.  Texas  had  started 
on  a  run,  without  saying  another  word,  and  the  rest 
were  at  his  heels. 

The  men  who  had  taken  that  heavy  chest  down  that 
steep  forest  slope  to  the  river  must  have  had  hard  work. 
Any  one  could  see  that  as  he  looked  at  the  mark  of  the 
wheel.  It  would  run  down  a  slippery  rock  and  plunge 
deep  into  the  soft  earth  at  the  bottom.  It  would  run  into  a 
fallen  log,  or  plunge  through  a  heavy  thicket.  And  once, 
plain  as  day  was  written  a  story  of  how  the  chest  had 
fallen  off  and  the  heap  of  scattered  coins  all  been  gathered 
up  again. 

These  things  the  plebes  barely  noticed  in  their  haste. 
They  ran  almost  all  the  way.  It  was  perhaps  two  hundred 
yards  to  the  river,  and  there  was  a  steep,  shelving  bank, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  was  a  little  pebbly  beach.  Down 


96  Discovery  of  the  Thief. 

the  bank  the  wheelbarrow  had  evidently  been  run,  half 
falling,  upsetting  the  box  once  more,  and  necessitating 
the  same  labor  of  gathering  up  the  coins.  One  of  them 
had  been  left  in  the  sand. 

The  poor  plebes  realized  then  how  hopeless  was  their 
search.  Deep  in  the  sand  was  the  mark  of  a  boat's  keel, 
and  they  knew  that  the  work  of  trailing  was  at  an  end. 
Their  treasure  was  gone  forever,  stolen  during  the  few 
hours  since  they  had  left  it  last. 

"There's  no  use  shedding  any  tears  about  it,"  said 
Mark  at  last,  when  the  state  of  affairs  had  had  time  to 
be  realized.  "We've  simply  got  it  to  bear.  Somebody 
probably  saw  us  leave  the  camp  last  night  and  followed 
us  up  here.  And  when  they  saw  that  treasure  they  just 
helped  themselves." 

There  is  little  that  will  make  most  people  madder  than 
to  be  told  "never  mind"  when  they  feel  they  have  some- 
thing to  be  very  much  worried  over.  The  Seven  did  mind 
a  great  deal.  They  sat  and  stared  at  each  other  with  looks 
of  disgust.  Even  the  Parson  (who  ought  to  have  been 
happy)  wore  a  funereal  look,  and  the  only  one  who  had 
a  natural  expression  was  Indian,  the  fat  boy  from  Indian- 


Discovery  of  the  Thiet  97 

apolis.  That  was  because  Indian  looked  horrified  and 
lugubrious  always. 

They  wandered  disconsolately  about  the  spot  where  the 
boat  had  landed  for  perhaps  five  minutes,  gazing  long- 
ingly at  the  trace  of  the  boat  in  the  sand  and  wishing  they 
could  see  it  in  the  water  as  well,  before  any  new  develop- 
ment came.  But  the  development  was  a  startling  one 
when  it  came.  It  took  no  detective  to  read  the  secret;  it 
was  written  plain  as  day  to  all  eyes  in  an  object  that  lay 
on  the  ground. 

Mark  was  the  first  to  notice  it.  He  saw  a  gleam  of 
metal  in  the  sand,  and  he  thought  it  was  one  of  the  coins. 
But  a  moment  later  he  saw  that  it  was  not,  and  he  sprang 
forward,  trembling  with  eagerness  and  sudden  hope. 

A  moment  later  he  held  up  before  his  startled  compan- 
ions a  handsome  gold  watch.  They  sprang  forward  to 
look  at  it.  Crying  out  in  surprise  as  they  did  so,  and  a 
moment  later  he  turned  it  quickly  over.  Written  upon 
the  back  were  three  letters  in  the  shape  of  a  monogram — a 
monogram  they  had  seen  before  on  clothing,  worn  by  a 
yearling,  and  that  yearling  was 

"Bull  Harris  1" 


98  Discovery  of  the  Thief. 

The  scene  that  followed  then  precludes  description. 
The  Seven  danced  about  on  the  sand,  fairly  howled  for 
what  was  joy  at  one  moment,  anger  at  another.  There 
was  joy  that  they  had  found  a  clew,  that  they  knew  where 
to  hunt  for  their  treasure ;  and  anger  at  that  latest  of  the 
many  contemptible  tricks  that  yearling  had  tried. 

What  Bull  Harris  had  done  scarcely  needs  to  be  men- 
tioned here — at  least,  not  to  old  readers  of  this  series. 
He  had  tried  every  scheme  that  his  revengeful  cunning 
could  suggest  to  even  matters  with  that  hated  Mark 
Mallory.  He  had  tried  a  dozen  plans  to  get  Mark  ex- 
pelled, a  dozen  to  get  him  brutally  hazed.  And  they  had 
all  been  cowardly  tricks  in  which  the  yearling  took  good 
care  to  run  no  danger.  This  was  the  last,  the  climax; 
he  had  stolen  their  treasure  by  night,  and  what  was 
almost  as  bad  had  he  found  their  secret  cavern.  And  as 
Mark  stood  and  stared  at  that  watch  he  clutched  in  his 
hand  he  registered  a  vow  that  Bull  Harris  should  be  paid 
for  his  acts  in  a  way  that  he  would  not  forget  if  he  lived 
a  thousand  years. 

And  then  he  turned  to  the  others. 

"Come  on,  fellows,"  he  said.  "We  can't  gain  anything 
by  standing  here.  Let's  go  back  and  watch  Bull  Harris 


Discovery  of  the  Thief.  99 

like  so  many  cats  until  we  find  out  what  he's  done  with  our 
money." 

The  Seven  turned  and  made  their  way  through  the 
woods  once  more,  talking  over  the  situation  and  their  own 
course  as  they  went.  They  had  room  for  but  one  idea  in 
their  heads  just  now.  They  must  find  out  where  that 
money  was  and  get  it  back,  if  it  was  the  last  thing  they 
ever  did  in  their  lives. 

It  was  clear  that  the  hiding  place  could  not  be  very 
far  away,  and  that  Bull  and  his  cronies  must  go  to  it 
again.  The  Seven  had  left  the  place  at  about  one  in  the 
morning,  and  reveille  came  at  five;  that  gave  but  four 
hours  in  which  Bull,  who  it  was  presumed,  had  watched 
them  digging,  had  returned  to  West  Point,  gotten  a  boat 
and  wheelbarrow  and  taken  the  treasure  away.  He  could 
not  have  taken  it  a  great  distance  in  that  time. 

Another  question  was,  who  had  helped  him?  Prob- 
ably some  of  his  gang,  Mark  thought,  until  he  chanced  to 
remember  that  Bull  had  another  ally  just  then.  He  had 
a  cousin,  a  youth  even  less  lovely  than  he  staying  at  the 
hotel.  And  then  came  another  vague  idea — perhaps  he 
had  the  treasure  there.  Bull  could  surely  not  have  it  in 
his  tent,  and  perhaps  he  had  been  afraid  to  bury  it. 


too  Discovery  of  the  Thief. 

That  was  but  a  faint  hope,  yet  Mark  decided  in  a 
moment  to  follow  it  up.  He  thought  of  a  scheme.  Grace 
Fuller  was  at  the  hotel,  and  also  George,  the  Fuller's  fam- 
ily butler.  George  was  a  merry,  red-faced  Irishman,  who 
had  once  fired  off  some  cannon  at  night  for  the  plebes 
and  scared  West  Point  out  of  its  boots.  Mark  determined 
after  a  moment's  consultation  that  George  was  the  man  to 
investigate  this  clew  for  them. 

As  I  said,  it  was  only  a  possibility,  a  very  bare  one. 
Mark  strolled  around  near  the  hotel  late  in  the  afternoon 
when  he  returned,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  man 
just  mentioned.  When  he  saw  him  he  whispered  to  him 
and  strolled  slowly  away. 

"George,"  said  Mark,  hurriedly,  when  the  other  joined 
him,  "do  you  know  which  is  Cadet  Harris'  cousin,  the 
young  man  who's  staying  in  the  hotel  there?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  butler.  "His  name's  Mr.  Chandler. 
Why?" 

"I've  got  a  secret,"  said  Mark,  briefly.  "It's  something 
important,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me,  without  saying  a 
word  to  any  one.  Get  one  of  the  women,  his  chamber- 
maid if  you  can,  to  find  out  if  he's  got  a  box  in  his  room." 

And  the  butler  chuckled  to  himself. 


Discovery  of  the  Thief.  101 

"Bless  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  can  tell  you  that  now. 
It's  the  talk  of  the  place,  among  the  help.  One  of  the 
girls  saw  Mr.  Harris  and  his  cousin  carrying  a  heavy  box 
up  to  his  room  just  before  reveille  this  morning." 

And  as  Mark  turned  away  again  he  was  ready  to  shout 
aloud  for  iov. 


CHAPTER  XL 

STEALING   FROM    THIEVES. 

"Now,"  said  Mark,  when  he  rejoined  his  companions, 
"we've  got  pretty  definite  information  to  go  on  with  now. 
Mr.  Chandler's  got  our  money  in  his  room.  The  question 
is  what  are  we  to  do  next?" 

The  plebes  were  sitting  over  in  a  secluded  corner  of 
Trophy  Point  discussing  this.  Texas  doubled  up  his 
fists  with  an  angry  exclamation. 

"Git  it  back!"  growled  he,  with  a  characteristic  disre- 
gard of  details. 

"But  how  ?"  said  Mark.  "Of  course  we  could  have  him 
arrested,  for  he  knew  the  money  was  ours.  But  if  we  did 
he'd  tell  how  we  skipped  camp  to  dig  it  and  we'd  be 
dismissed  from  West  Point.  Then  there'd  be  the  old 
Nick  to  pay." 

"One  case  where  I'd  be  thankful  I'm  not  in  the  habit 
of  paying  my  debts,"  observed  Dewey,  tacking  on  a  stray  v 
"b'gee"  as  usual.    "As  to  Bull  and  his  cousin,  I  say  we 
punch  their  faces  till  they  give  up  the  money.    Punch  their 
faces,  b'gee!' 


Stealing  from  Thieves.  103 

"Doggone  their  boots !"  growled  Texas. 

"That  might  hurt  their  boots,"  laughed  Mark,  "but  it 
wouldn't  do  us  any  good.  I  haven't  heard  any  feasible 
suggestion  yet.  You  know  possession  is  nine  points,  and 
they've  got  that." 

It  was  Mark  who  finally  hit  upon  a  plan  that  seemed 
possible.  It  was  a  wild  and  woolly  plan,  too,  and  it  took 
Texas  with  a  rush. 

'They  stole  it  from  us,"  said  Mark.  "I  don't  see  what 
better  we  can  do  than  steal  it  back  again." 

"You  don't  mean "  gasped  Dewey— "b'gee " 

"Yes,  I  do,"  laughed  Mark.  "And  I  mean  this  very 
night,  too.  I  mean  that  we  turn  burglars  and  get  our 
money  out  of  there." 

And  Mr.  Jeremiah  Powers  let  out  a  whoop  just  then 
that  made  the  windows  rattle  over  in  that  selfsame  hotel. 
Jeremiah  Powers  hadn't  been  quite  so  excited  since  the 
time  he  rode  out  and  tried  to  hold  up  the  cadet  battalion. 
When  the  others  assented  to  the  plan  and  vowed  their 
aid,  he  nearly  had  a  fit. 

After  that  the  Seven  did  almost  nothing  but  glance  at 
their  watches  during  the  fast- waning  Sunday  afternoon. 
There  was  no  parade  to  pass  the  time.  It  seemed  an  age 


IO4  Stealing  from  Thieves. 

between  the  sunset  gun  and  supper ;  and  as  for  tattoo,  all 
the  Parson's  much-vaunted  geologic  periods,  times,  ages 
and  eras,  Silurian,  Devonian,  Carboniferous,  Treassic, 
Jurassic  and  Cretaceous,  were  not  to  be  compared  with 
it  in  length.  When  they  did  finally  get  into  bed  they 
waited  another  age  for  taps  to  sound,  and  another  for  the 
tac  to  inspect,  and  another  till  the  sentry  called  half -past 
ten,  and  another  for  eleven,  and  another  for  half -past  that, 
and  then  twelve,  and  they  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer. 

No  matter  if  it  was  a  rather  early  hour  for  burglars 
to  begin  operations,  they  could  not  wait  any  longer.  Not 
a  man  of  them  had  gone  to  sleep  (except  Indian),  such 
was  their  impatience.  They  got  up,  all  of  them,  and  began 
to  dress  hastily,  putting  on  some  old  clothes  a  drum  or- 
derly had  smuggled  in.  And  a  few  minutes  later  that 
momentous  expedition  crossed  the  sentry  post  unseen  and 
sat  down  in  old  Fort  Clinton. 

Nobody  means  to  say  for  a  moment  that  there  was 
one  of  them  who  was  not  badly  scared  just  then.  None  of 
them  was  used  to  playing  burglar  and  they  could  not  but 
see  that  it  was  a  very  serious  and  dangerous  business  at 
best.  Old  hands  at  it  often  get  into  serious  scrapes,  so 
what  shall  we  say  of  greenhorns  ?  The  only  one  of  them 


Stealing  from  Thieves.  105' 

who  had  ever  "done  a  job"  was  Texas,  who  had  once 
gotten  Mark  out  of  a  bad  scrape  that  way. 

They  discussed  the  programme  they  were  to  follow. 
They  knew  where  the  room  was  and  that  it  could  be 
reached  by  climbing  the  piazza  pillars  to  the  roof  above. 
Texas  had  climbed  those  pillars  once  before,  and  he  had 
a  rope  to  help  Mark  and  the  rest  up  this  time.  After  that 
they  were  to  enter  that  room,  and  Texas,  the  desperate 
cowboy,  was  to  hold  young  Chandler  up  till  the  deed 
was  done.  That  was  all,  very  simple.  But,  oh,  how  they 
shivered ! 

They  were  ugly  enough  looking  fellows  externally. 
The  clothes  they  wore  were  old  and  tough  looking,  turned 
up  at  the  collars.  Mark  had  in  his  free  hand  a  dark 
lantern,  and  Texas  was  clutching  in  his  pocket  a  heavy 
forty-four  caliber  which  he  meant  to  use.  They  had 
masks,  every  one  of  them,  or  such  masks  as  they  could 
make  out  of  their  handkerchiefs.  And  anybody  who  saw 
them  stealing  across  the  grass  to  the  hotel  grounds  would 
have  been  very  much  alarmed  indeed. 

Fortunately  it  was  a  cloudy  night,  black  as  pitch. 

Even  the  white  trousers  of  the  lonely  sentries  who 
paced  the  walks  about  the  camp  were  scarcely  distin- 


io6  Stealing  from  Thieves. 

guishable.  The  hotel  was  a  black,  indistinct  mass  loom- 
ing up  in  front  of  them.  The  chances  of  recognition  un- 
der such  circumstances  were  few,  the  plebes  realized  with 
a  sense  of  relief. 

Once  hiding  close  under  the  shadow  of  the  building 
they  wasted  but  little  time  in  consultation.  It  was  a  creepy 
sort  of  business  altogether,  but  then  they  had  started, 
and  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  go  right  ahead.  Most 
of  them  had  recovered  from  their  first  nervousness  at 
this  crisis  anyway,  of  course  excepting  poor  Indian,  who 
had  seated  himself  flat  on  the  ground  in  a  state  of  collapse. 
Dewey  was  behind  him  ready  to  grab  him  by  the  mouth 
in  case  one  of  Indian's  now  famous  howls  of  terror 
should  show  any  signs  of  breaking  loose. 

Texas  and  Mark  meanwhile  were  proceeding  calmly  to 
business.  The  pillars  were  very  wide  and  high,  and 
Mark  foresaw  trouble  in  getting  himself  up  them  with  his 
crippled  arm.  And  there  was  still  more  trouble  in  the 
case  of  the  gentleman  from  Indianapolis,  whose  fat  little 
legs  wouldn't  reach  halfway  around.  The  difficulty  was 
fortunately  removed  by  the  finding  of  a  short  ladder  in 
back  of  the  house.  A  very  few  minutes  later  the  seven 
anxious  plebes  were  lying  upon  the  piazza  roof. 


Stealing  from  Thieves.  107 

They  wormed  their  way  up  close  to  the  wall  of  the 
building  where  they  were  safe  from  observation.  And 
while  Mark  devoted  himself  to  keeping  Indian  quiet  Texas 
set  out  to  reconnoiter.  Poor  Indian  didn't  want  to  come, 
and  worse  yet,  he  didn't  want  to  stay.  He  felt  safer  in 
the  hotel  as  a  burglar  than  all  alone  outside  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  he  had  an  idea  that  even  Camp  McPherson 
wasn't  safe  without  Mark.  "Alas,  poor  Indian!" 

Meanwhile  as  to  Texas.  Did  you  ever  walk  on  a  tin 
roof?  If  you  have  you  can  imagine  what  a  soul-stirring, 
ear-splitting  operation  it  is,  at  midnight,  especially  when 
you  are  in  burglar's  costume,  with  a  revolver  in  one 
hand  and  a  dark  lantern  in  the  other.  Every  single  indi- 
vidual bit  of  tin  on  the  flooring  seemed  to  have  a  new 
and  original  kind  of  sound  to  make,  and  the  six  watchers 
quailed  at  every  one  of  them. 

Texas  was  hunting  for  the  window  that  led  into  the  hall 
of  the  building.  The  room  they  meant  to  enter  was  un- 
fortunately on  the  other  side.  They  had  to  force  the 
window,  creep  down  the  hall  and  get  into  that  room.  If 
they  could  simply  have  entered  it  from  a  window,  they 
might  have  gotten  out  of  this  foolish  scrape  a  good  deal 
more  simply  than  they  did. 


io8  Stealing  from  Thieves. 

Texas  managed  to  locate  the  window  without  much 
trouble,  and  fortunately  he  found  it  open.  He  beckoned 
the  others  silently,  and  they  crept  one  by  one  down  to 
the  place,  Indian  making  twice  as  much  noise  as  any  one 
because  he  weighed  more.  At  any  rate  they  climbed 
through  the  window  and  into  the  lonely  hall  of  the  hotel, 
where  they  stood  and  listened  anxiously.  They  had  not 
been  very  quiet,  but  they  did  not  believe  they  had  awak- 
ened any  one ;  and  after  this  they  could  be  quieter. 

They  would  have  been  very  much  scared  and  terrified 
plebes,  more  so,  all  of  them,  than  was  Master  Smith  now, 
if  they  could  have  known  the  true  state  of  affairs.  For 
they  had  awakened  some  one.  And  though  they  had  not 
the  least  suspicion  of  it,  a  pair  of  sharp  eyes  had  been 
watching  their  every  move. 

They  were  very  beautiful  eyes,  too.  They  belonged  to 
a  young  girl,  a  girl  with  lovely  features  and  bright  golden 
hair.  She  was  sleeping  in  one  of  the  rooms  on  the  second 
floor  that  fronted  on  the  piazza,  and  the  sound  that 
awakened  her  had  been  the  gentle  tap  upon  the  roof 
when  the  ladder  had  been  raised.  She  sat  up  in  bed, 
and  a  moment  later  arose  and  crept  tremblingly  to  the 
window.  Peering  out  into  the  darkness  she  saw  the  top 


Stealing  from  Thieves.  109 

of  the  ladder,  and  a  moment  later  saw  a  masked  face  ap- 
pear above  it,  and  a  masked  figure  climb  up  and  creep 
into  the  shadow  of  the  building.  Another  followed  it  in- 
stantly, and  another;  and  then  without  a  sound  the  girl 
dodged  down  and  stole  across  the  floor  of  the  room. 

She  crept  silently  to  a  trunk  that  was  in  one  corner; 
she  raised  the  lid  and  fumbled  about  anxiously  in  the 
darkness  for  something.  It  felt  cold,  like  polished  steel, 
when  she  found  what  she  wanted.  She  picked  it  up  and 
slipped  a  wrapper  over  her  shoulders,  then  softly  opened 
the  door  of  her  room  to  peer  out  into  the  hall. 

Meanwhile  as  to  the  Seven  whom  we  left  standing  in- 
side of  the  window  down  near  the  other  end.  They  were, 
as  has  been  said,  entirely  unconscious  of  what  has  just 
been  mentioned.  Texas  had  crept  forward  and  extin- 
guished the  light  that  burned  in  the  hall,  and  they  were 
now  standing  in  total  darkness  but  for  the  single  ray  of 
the  lantern.  They  held  a  whispered  conversation  as  to 
what  they  should  do  next. 

Parson  Stanard  volunteered  to  pick  the  lock  of  Chand- 
ler's door ;  he  wasn't  a  burglar  by  profession,  by  Zeus,  said 
he,  but  he  believed  in  a  gentleman  of  culture  knowing 
something  about  all  the  arts  and  professions.  (This  was 


no  Stealing  from  Thieves. 

whispered  in  all  seriousness.)  And  so  the  Parson  crept 
up  to  the  door,  the  lantern  in  his  hand.  He  knelt  down 
before  the  lock  and  fell  to  examining  it  cautiously,  finally 
thrusting  in  a  bent  piece  of  wire  and  getting  to  work.  He 
said  he  could  get  that  door  open  in  two  minutes. 

Meanwhile  the  others  were  huddled  together  waiting 
anxiously.  Indian  was  leaning  against  the  wall,  making  it 
shake  with  his  nervous  trembling,  and  Texas  was  peer- 
ing out  of  the  window  to  make  sure  that  there  was  no 
sign  of  danger  there.  And  then  suddenly  came  the 
thunderclap. 

Nothing  could  be  imagined  more  terrifying  to  the  ama- 
teur burglars  than  what  actually  happened  in  the  next 
half  minute.  There  came  first  the  sound  of  a  creaking 
door,  a  sound  that  made  them  start  back.  And  an  instant 
later  a  figure  sprang  out  into  the  hallway,  a  figure  that 
they  could  plainly  see  in  the  darkness,  for  it  was  white  as 
snow.  The  figure  raised  one  arm  and  called  in  a  voice 
that  was  clear  and  unfaltering: 

"What  are  you  doing  there  ?" 

The  plebes  stood  aghast,  trembling.  They  knew  the 
voice,  and  that  but  increased  their  horror.  For  it  was 
Grace  Fuller,  their  dearest  friend! 


Stealing  from  Thieves.  in 

They  all  recognized  her  but  one,  and  that  was  Texas; 
Texas  had  been  leaning  out  of  the  window  and  the  voice 
was  not  so  distinct  to  him.  He  wheeled  about  with  the 
swiftness  of  a  panther,  giving  vent  to  a  cry  of  anger  as 
he  did  so.  He  flung  his  hand  around  to  his  pocket  and 
whipped  out  his  revolver.  Before  the  others  could  make  z 
move  to  stop  him  he  swung  it  up  to  his*  shoulder. 

And  an  instant  later  there  came  a  blinding  flash  of  light 
and  a  loud  report  that  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  silent 
building. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SEVEN    BURGLARS    IN    A   SCRAPE. 

The  scene  that  followed  beggars  description.  Mark  had 
leaped  forward  to  seize  the  Texan's  hand,  shouting  aloud : 

"Stop !  stop !    It's  Grace  Fuller !" 

Texas  started  back  in  surprise;  at  the  same  moment 
came  the  shot,  which  was  from  the  girl's  revolver.  It 
was  accidental,  as  she  afterward  declared,  though  the 
plebes  did  not  know  it  then.  The  result  frightened  Grace 
even  more  than  it  did  them,  the  bullet  buried  itself  in  the 
wall,  but  the  sound  of  the  report  was  followed  by  a  wail 
of  agony  from  the  terrified  Indian,  which  echoed  down 
the  hall.  And  Grace  heard  shouts  from  various  parts  of 
the  hotel,  doors  opening,  people  running  about,  and  she 
knew  that  her  friends  were  in  deadly  peril. 

A  much  more  hopeless  situation  it  would  be  hard  to 
imagine;  the  girl  was  horrified.  But  her  first  thought 
was  had  she  wounded  Indian,  and  she  dashed  wildly  down 
the  hallway  to  them. 

One  glance  at  the  huddled  group  of  figures  sufficed  to 


Seven  Burglars  in  a  Scrape.  113 

answer  that  question.     Before  she  could  make  another 
sound  there  came  a  bounding  step  upon  the  stairway. 

"We'll  be  discovered!"  cried  Mark.    "Quick!" 
^     He  turned  to  the  window;  but  a  single  glance  outside 
showed  him  two  figures  running  across  the  lawn.    There 
was  no  hope  of  escape  there.    They  were  gone! 

An  instant  later  Grace  Fuller's  clear  tones  rang  in  his 
ear. 

"Come!    Come!" 

Like  a  flash  she  turned  and  dashed  down  the  hallway 
to  her  room.  Mark  followed  at  her  heels,  and  the  rest 
of  them,  too,  dragging  the  half -paralyzed  and  terrified 
Indian  along,  while  the  shouts  and  footsteps  swelled  louder 
and  louder  to  urge  them  on. 

They  were  just  in  time.     Grace  Fuller  had  scarcely 

time  to  push  the  last  one  in  and  then  slam  the  door  before 

three  men,  one  of  them  her  father,  dashed  around  a  turn 

of  the  hall  and  confronted  her  white  figure  standing  at  the 

,  door,  the  revolver  still  in  her  hand. 

/      The  huddled  plebes  inside  were  too  alarmed  to  think. 
They  heard  the  quick-witted  girl  call  to  the  men : 

"Here !    Hurry  up.    This  way !" 

And  then  they  heard  the  footsteps  die  away  again,  as 


H4          Seven  Burglars  in  a  Scrape. 

the  men  with  her  at  their  head  dashed  down  the  hall 
toward  the  rear  stairs  of  the  building.  They  knew  that 
for  the  time  they  were  safe. 

They  stood  panting  and  breathless,  listening  for  a  mo- 
ment. They  heard  the  noise  at  the  rear  increase ;  it  was 
evident  that  everybody  was  hurrying  in  that  direction. 
Mark  sprang  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  He  saw 
three  men  running  toward  the  foot  of  the  ladder. 

"There's  where  they  went  up !"  he  heard  one  of  them 
say. 

And  then  came  a  shout  from  the  rear  and  the  three 
dashed  around  the  building  in  that  direction,  leaving  the 
lawn  clear  and  the  place  deserted.  Mark  turned  and  cried 
to  the  others : 

"Come !   Quick !   Now's  our  chance !" 

It  was  a  desperate  chance,  but  they  took  it. 

"One  dash  for  the  camp,"  whispered  Texas.  "Git  in 
an'  hide,  no  matter  what !" 

They  leaped  out  of  the  window  and  made  a  dash  for 
the  ladder.  A  second  or  two  might  make  all  the  dif- 
ference now.  They  might  get  a  start,  or  again  they 
might  find  a  man  with  a  revolver  to  stop  them  at  the  foot. 


Seven  Burglars  in  a  Scrape.  115 

It  was  a  critical  situation,  and  the  plebes  were  quick  as 
lightning,  even  Indian. 

Texas  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  Dewey  after  him. 
They  could  not  wait  for  the  others  to  get  down  the  ladder. 
Mark  slid  down  like  .a  flash,  holding  to  the  side  with  one 
hand.  Indian  slipped  halfway  and  tumbled  the  rest. 
Chauncey,  Sleepy  and  the  Parson  came  down  one  on 
each  side,  almost  on  top  of  them,  and  a  second  or  two 
later  the  Seven  were  at  the  foot  staring  about  them  like 
so  many  hunted  animals. 

"Come  on!"  cried  Mark,  seeing  no  one.  "For  your 
lives!" 

They  sprang  forward  and  dashed  away  toward  the 
camp.  They  had  not  gone  a  dozen  yards  before  there 
came  a  shout  from  the  rear  of  the  hotel,  a  shout  that 
swelled  to  a  roar. 

"There  they  go!    Quick!    Stop  'em!    Halt!" 

Halt?  Not  much!  Those  plebes  were  running  as 
never  did  man  run  before.  Even  Indian  was  breaking 
records,  fear  urging  him  to  prodigies  of  speed.  Fortu- 
nately there  was  no  one  of  the  pursuers  who  was  armed, 
but  they  were  in  hot  pursuit,  and  their  shouts  might  have 
the  camp  awake  any  moment. 


n6  Seven  Burglars  in  a  Scrape. 

It  was  a  very  short  distance  to  the  camp,  but  to  the 
burglars  it  seemed  a  league.  They  expected  a  pistol  shot 
any  moment,  and  yet  they  could  not  run  any  faster. 
They  bounded  across  the  path,  through  the  bushes  and 
on,  until  suddenly  a  high  embankment  loomed  up  before 
them.  It  was  Fort  Qinton,  and  they  dashed  around  the 
corner  and  into  the  camp  beyond. 

They  were  not  so  quick  but  that  the  foremost  of  those 
in  chase  saw  clearly  where  they  went ;  and  the  cry  swelled 
out  upon  the  breeze: 

"The  camp!  The  camp!  The  burglars  are  hiding  in 
the  camp !  Don't  let  them  get  out !" 

Fortunately  the  sentry  of  the  post  had  been  at  the  other 
end  of  the  path.  There  was  no  danger  of  his  recognizing 
them,  but  he  saw  them  cross  his  beat  and  vanish  among 
the  white  tents.  He  heard  the  cry  of  "Burglars !"  and  as 
he  came  dashing  down  the  path  toward  the  spot  his  shouts 
ran  out  above  the  others : 

"Corporal  of  the  guard !    Post  number  three !" 

Camp  McPherson  was  in  an  uproar  ten  seconds  after 
that.  The  shouting  awoke  every  cadet  in  the  place  and 
brought  them  all  to  their  tent  doors  at  a  bound.  The 
young  corporal  dashed  out  of  the  guard  tent  and  around 


Seven  Burglars  in  a  Scrape.  117 

to  the  sentry's  aid,  the  tactical  officer  in  command  right  at 
his  heels  with  a  clank  of  sword.  At  the  same  moment 
up  rushed  the  crowd  of  excited  half-clad  men  from  the 
hotel. 

"Burglars!  Burglars!  They're  hiding  in  the  camp !" 

The  lieutenant  (the  tac)  took  in  the  situation  in  an  in- 
stant. He  dashed  down  the  path,  warning  the  sentries  as 
he  ran.  The  officer  at  the  guard  tent  turned  out  the  mem- 
bers of  the  guard  a  moment  later  and  hurried  them  awa 
to  double  the  watch  about  the  camp.  At  the  same  time 
the  "long  roll"  was  being  sounded  by  a  drum  orderly  up 
by  the  color  line,  summoning  the  cadets  to  form  at  once 
on  the  company  street. 

Truly  those  burglars  were  to  have  a  hard  time  getting 
out  of  that  trap,  into  which  they  had  gotten  so  easily. 

Meanwhile,  what  as  to  the  Banded  Seven?  The  time 
between  when  they  entered  camp  and  rushed  into  their 
two  tents  and  when  the  company  battalion  formed  was 
perhaps  one  minute.  In  that  brief  space  the  plebes  had 
flung  off  their  clothes  and  hid  them  feverishly  under  their 
blankets,  then  leaped  into  their  uniforms  and  fallen  into 
line.  And  that  was  the  end  of  their  danger. 

The  battalion  once  formed  there  was  a  hasty  roll  call, 


n8          Seven  Burglars  in  a  Scrape. 

showing  all  present.  And  then  began  a  search  of  the 
place.  The  officers,  and  some  of  the  men  from  the  hotel 
searched  every  tent,  every  spot  within  the  camp.  And 
when  they  found  no  burglars  they  gathered  together  and 
stared  at  each  other  and  wondered  how  that  could  be. 
The  tacs  interviewed  the  sentries,  and  each  swore  that 
no  burglars  or  any  one  else  had  run  across  their  beats. 
After  which  came  another  search,  and  another  failure,  and 
more  mystery. 

That  those  burglars  had  been  cadets  on  a  lark  no  one 
dreamed.  For  they  had  been  desperate-looking  burglars, 
masked  and  armed.  But  where  were  they  now  ? 

No  one  knew,  and  no  one  knows  to  this  day.  The  cadets 
returned  to  their  tents,  discussing  the  curious  situation, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  more  the  camp  had  settled  into  its 
customary  stillness. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WATCHING  THE  TREASURE. 

"Any  news  yet?" 

* 'Nothing.  I  guess  they're  waiting  till  night  to  move 
it" 

"Do  you  suppose  they  knew  the  burglars  were  after  it 
last  night?" 

"No,  I  don't.  They  haven't  the  least  idea  of  it,  I'm 
sure.  I  heard  Bull  Harris  talking  about  it  this  afternoon." 

The  Seven  were  waiting  for  a  summons  to  drill,  and 
sitting  in  one  of  the  tents  of  the  summer  encampment. 
The  cadet  who  was  answering  the  questions  was  Mark. 
He  had  just  entered  the  tent  as  the  conversation  before 
mentioned  began. 

"Bull  Harris  will  never  get  that  treasure  away  from 
us,"  he  continued.  "That  is,  not  unless  he  has  more 
sense  than  I  think  he  has.  Bull  is  busy  all  day,  nearly 
the  same  as  we;  so  I  think  he'll  try  to  move  it  at  night. 
We  can  watch  him  then,  and  stand  a  fair  show  to  get  it 
back.  You  see  it  was  only  night  before  last  that  he  stole 
it  from  our  cave,  and  I  think  he's  pretty  sure  we  haven't 


I2O  Watching  the  Treasure. 

found  it  out  yet.  We've  been  careful  not  to  awaken  any 
suspicions." 

"Keerful !"  echoed  Texas.  "Pshaw !  I  don't  see  whar 
K  the  keerful  part  is.  We  stole  over  thar  to  the  hotel  last 
night  an'  went  up  to  the  room  and  tried  to  run  off  with  it. 
An'  ef  somebody  hadn't  a  seen  us,  we'd  a  had  it,  too." 

"Bull  Harris  has  small  idea  that  those  desperate  bur- 
glars were  his  old  plebe  enemies,"  laughed  Mark.  "I 
heard  him  talking  about  the  burglars  to  the  cadets  this 
morning.  He  said  he  thought  they  had  come  up  from 
Highland  Falls  and " 

The  conversation  was  cut  short  just  then  by  the  rattle 
of  a  drum,  which  caused  the  plebes  to  spring  up  and  hustle 
out  of  the  tent  in  a  hurry,  to  "fall  in"  for  the  morning 
drill  in  evolutions,  which  ended  the  plotting,  for  that  hour 
at  least. 

The  treasure  was  still  in  the  hotel.  By  way  of  penance 
for  her  last  night's  stupidity,  Grace  Fuller  had  volunteerec 
to  see  that  the  chest  was  not  carried  from  the  place  that 
day  without  the  plebes  learning  of  it.  Mark  had  been  over 
to  inquire  a  short  while  ago;  his  report  had  been  as 
stated. 

He  was  mistaken,  however,  in  his  idea  that  the  yearling 


Watching  the  Treasure.  121 

had  no  idea  who  the  burglars  were.  Young  Chandler 
had  picked  up  a  revolver  dropped  in  the  hall  by  Texas. 
Texas  hadn't  missed  it;  he  had  too  many  for  that.  But 
this  one  had  his  initials  on  it,  and  Chandler  had  "caught 
on"  to  the  state  of  affairs  in  no  time.  So  Bull  did  know 
that  he  was  watched,  and  he  was  using  all  his  cunning  to 
outwit  his  unsuspecting  enemies.  A  chest  of  gold  was  a 
stake  worth  playing  hard  for. 

Slowly  the  day  passed.    Chandler  still  held  on  to  that 

revolver,  with  the  "J.  P-"  on  tne  hilt.  Likewise  to  the  box 
of  treasure  in  the  corner  of  his  room.  And  he  and  Bull 
were  busily  plotting  a  way  to  remove  it  to  safety,  and  if 
possible  get  its  real  owners  into  trouble  besides.  Bull 
thought  they  might  make  another  effort  to  steal  it.  "It 
would  be  just  like  the  fools,"  said  he,  "and  if  they  do, 
they  won't  get  away  quite  so  easily  again." 

Bull  had  a  decided  advantage  in  the  matter,  as  you  may 
easily  see.  He  was  working  with  his  eyes  open.  He  knew 
the  situation.  The  Seven,  on  the  other  hand,  were  blinded 
by  their  supposition  that  they  were  unwatched  and  un- 
suspected. 

Moreover,  Bull  had  what  Texas  would  have  called  the 
"drop"  on  them  with  that  gun. 


122  Watching  the  Treasure. 

He  was  going  to  cap  the  climax  by  getting  the  treasure 
safely  out  of  reach;  then  he  calculated  that  his  long- 
sought  revenge  over  Mark  would  be  obtained. 

Bull  watched  Mark  and  his  "gang"  slyly  during  the 
day.  Bull  hated  each  and  every  individual  member  of  that 
gang  with  all  the  concentrated  hatred  of  which  he  was 
capable.  Mark  had  foiled  and  outwitted  him  at  every 
turn — the  wild  and  woolly  Texan  had  thrashed  him  once ; 
"Indian,"  the  fat  and  timid  "kid"  from  Indianapolis,  had 
gotten  mad  one  day  and  interrupted  one  of  Bull's  hazing 
bees,  attacking  the  yearling  with  a  fury  that  had  knocked 
him  off  his  feet. 

Then  there  was  the  Parson,  who  was  one  of  the  most 
inoffensive  scholars  this  world  has  ever  made,  but  he  did 
object  to  being  tied  in  a  sack  "like  a  member  of  the 

Turkish  harem,"  as  he  vividly  described  it.  And  when 
Bull  tried  that,  the  Parson  had  a  fit  and  put  his  classical 
and  geological  muscles  at  work  on  Bull's  nose. 

Then  came  "B'gee"  Dewey,  light-hearted,  with  a  laugh 
that  put  everybody  in  a  good  humor.  Not  so  Bull ;  Dewey 
had  once  had  the  nerve  to  refuse  to  climb  a  tree  because 
Bull  said  to,  and  had  given  Bull  two  black  eyes  during 


Watching  the  Treasure. 

the  scrimmage  that  followed.  Besides  these  there  were 
"Chauncey,  the  dude,"  and  "Sleepy,  the  farmer,"  who 
had  once  attacked  Bull  and  five  other  yearlings,  and  who, 
hesides  this,  had  dared  to  join  Mallory's  gang,  an  un- 
pardonable offense  anyhow.  Bull  Harris  had  much  to 
revenge,  but  he  thought  he  was  about  to  make  up  for  all 
of  it  in  a  very  brief  time. 

The  day  passed  without  incident  to  interest  us.  It  was 
the  usual  routine  of  duty  for  the  plebes,  with  much  drill- 
ing and  very  little  rest.  Grace  Fuller  kept  some  one 
watching  Chandler  all  day  with  no  result ;  and  that  is  all 
there  is  to  be  said. 

The  plot  began  to  unfold  itself  that  night,  however. 
Chandler  strolled  in  to  see  Bull  after  supper,  a  fact  which 
the  Seven  noticed  with  no  small  amount  of  glee. 

"He's  fixing  up  something  for  to-night,"  they  whis- 
pered. 

That  seemed  to  be  the  state  of  affairs  for  a  fact,  and  the 
Seven  made  a  compact  then  and  there  to  stay  awake  and 
prevent  it  if  it  was  the  last  thing  they  ever  did  in  their 
lives. 

That  is,  all  of  them  but  one.    The  one  was  the  Parson. 


124  Watching  the  Treasure. 

The  Parson,  it  appeared,  had  been  "geologizing"  during 
the  morning;  he  had  secured  some  extraordinary  speci- 
mens of  rocks.  There  were  pyrites  and  fluorites,  belem- 
r  nites  and  ammonites,  hematites,  andalusies  and  goniatites, 
to  say  nothing  of  Hittites  and  Jebusites,  added  by  the  face- 
tious Dewey,  with  outasites  and  gottabites.  However 
that  may  be,  Parson  Stanard  had  found  a  piece  of  "horn- 
blend,  with  traces  of  potassium  nitrate  manifested."  So 
extraordinary  a  phenomenon  as  that  could  not  be  allowed 
to  pass  unnoticed,  especially  for  any  quantity  of  ordinary 
twenty-two  carat  gold,  with  no  interest  to  the  chemist 
whatsoever.  The  Parson  vowed  he  was  going  to  analyze 
that  specimen  that  evening  as  soon  as  camp  was  quiet. 

Dewey  suggested  that  evening  ought  to  be  pretty  good 
time  to  test  for  "nitrates,"  whereupon  the  Parson  turned 
away  with  a  solemn  look  of  pain  and  fell  to  examining  his 
chemicals.  The  Parson  had  discovered  a  loose  board  in 
the  flooring  of  his  tent,  and  with  true  Bostonian  origin- 
ality he  had  hidden  all  his  specimens  and  apparatus  under 
that;  the  Texan's  revolvers  were  there,  too,  making  a 
most  interesting  collection  of  articles  altogether. 

We  must  go  on  to  the  adventures  of  the  evening.    The 


Watching  the  Treasure.  125 

Parson's  chemistry  was  destined  to  play  a  most  important 
part  in  the  affair,  but  not  just  at  present. 

Tattoo  sounded,  calling  the  cadets  to  roll  call  and  bed ; 
taps  comes  half  an  hour  later,  "lights  out  and  all  quiet." 
Then  the  "tac"  inspected  and  went  to  bed  also,  after  which 
the  Parson  got  up,  let  down  his  tent  walls,  lighted  his  can- 
dle, and  set  out  his  array  of  test-tubes  and  reagents.  Then 
also  Texas  got  up  and  stole  out  of  the  tent,  past  the  sen- 
try, and  over  to  the  hotel. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  the  place  was  to  be  watched 
from  the  distance  every  moment  that  night.  Texas  had 
put  in  a  claim  to  be  first,  and  he  was  on  his  way  to  spend 
an  hour  hiding  in  the  bushes.  Chandler  and  Bull  Harris 
weren't  going  to  remove  that  treasure  without  a  "scrap." 

As  it  happened,  Texas  was  not  going  to  have  to  wait 
long.  It  appears  that  Bull  imagined  that  the  Seven  were 
going  to  try  burglary  again ;  his  plan  to  fool  them  was  to 
hide  the  treasure  early,  before  the  people  in  the  hotel  were 
quiet,  and  so  before  the  plebes  could  do  anything.  Then, 
the  treasure  once  out  of  the  way,  Chandler  might  easily 
trap  the  plebes.  It  was  quite  a  clever  scheme  indeed,  and 
Bull  was  in  a  hurry  to  put  it  into  execution. 


126  Watching  the  Treasure. 

He  stole  out  of  camp  as  Texas  had  done,  and  stole  into 
the  hotel  at  the  rear  entrance.  At  the  same  moment  Texas 
rose  up  out  of  the  bushes  and  sped  awa>  toward  camp  at 
-he  top  of  his  speed. 

Which  was  where  the  excitement  began. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  SEVEN    IN   A  TRAP. 

Some  ten  minutes  after  Bull  Harris  vanished  in  the 
shadow  of  the  hotel,  two  figures  came  down  the  stairs, 
bearing  a  heavy  burden  between  them.  There  was  no  one 
in  the  neighborhood  to  observe  them.  They  crept  out  the 
back  door  and  gently  deposited  their  load  upon  a  wheel- 
barrow that  stood  near.  A  moment  more  and  they  and 
the  wheelbarrow,  too,  had  disappeared  in  the  shadow  of 
the  trees. 

At  the  same  instant  six  figures  dashed  past  the  sentry  at 
the  camp  and  set  out  to  follow  swiftly.  They  were  the 
members  of  the  Banded  Seven,  minus  the  chemical  Par- 
son. The  other  two  were  Chandler  and  his  cousin. 

The  latter  were  wary  as  foxes ;  they  were  aware  of  the 

fact  that  they  might  be  followed,  and  Bull  was  glancing 

if 

over  his  shoulder  at  every  step.  But  owing  to  the  sen- 
tries that  patrol  the  post,  he  had  to  keep  in  the  dark 
shadow  of  the  woods  by  the  river  front,  and  that  was 
where  the  six  got  their  chance  to  hide.  They  were  can- 


128  The  Seven  in  a  Trap. 

tious,  too;  even  our  fat  friend,  Joseph  Smith,  was  as 
silent  and  stealthy  as  any  genuine  "Indian." 

Bull  and  his  companion  skirted  the  buildings  to  the 
south,  and  emerged  upon  the  road  to  Highland  Falls. 
Down  this  they  hurried  for  a  short  distance,  and  then 
turned  into  a  patch  of  thick  woods  just  above  cadet  limits. 
In  the  center  of  the  woods  they  halted,  set  down  their  load 
and  went  right  to  work  without  further  parley.  They 
were  going  to  bury  the  treasure,  where  it  would  be  safe 
beyond  possibility  of  danger. 

That  was  their  plan.  To  be  very  brief,  I  may  say  that 
they  did  not  get  far.  Bull  had  barely  had  time  to  plunge 
his  spade  into  the  ground  before  there  came  a  sound  of  a 
snapping  twig  that  made  him  start  as  if  he  had  been 
shot. 

It  was  a  dark  night,  very  dark,  and  the  two  frightened 
rascals  could  distinguish  little.  But  one  thing  they  did 
see;  that  was  the  grinning  countenance  of  the  "son  o'  the 
Hon.  Scrap  Powers,  o'  Hurricane  County,  Texas,"  at 
the  present  moment  peering  over  the  barrel  of  a  luminous 
and  voluminous  revolver. 

There  never  was  a  hold  up  more  sudden  and  complete 
than  that,  at  least  not  in  the  experience  of  our  cowboy 


The  Seven  in  a  Trap.  129 

friend.  Chandler  had  a  revolver  in  hi*  pocket  (the  one 
that  Texas  had  dropped),  but  he  did  not  dare  to  make 
a  move  to  touch  it.  He  was  too  well  aware  of  Jeremiah1 
Powers'  reputation  among  the  cadets.  Chandler  and  Bull 
could  do  nothing  but  stare  and  gasp. 

It  was  not  part  of  the  programme  of  the  six  to  keep 
them  in  suspense  for  any  time.  Texas  kept  his  gun  lev- 
eled, reinforced  by  another  in  his  other  hand,  while  Mark 
and  his  companions,  smiling  cheerfully,  stepped  out  and 
proceeded  to  take  possession  in  genuine  Dick  Turpin 
style. 

In  the  first  place,  there  were  the  prisoners  to  be  at- 

* 

tended  to.  They  were  too  much  confounded  and  fright- 
ened to  resist,  and  they  speedily  found  themselves  lying 
flat  as  pancakes  on  the  ground,  tied  hand  and  foot,  with 
handkerchiefs  in  their  mouths  for  an  extra  precaution. 
Then,  and  then  only,  Texas  shoved  his  revolvers  back 
where  they  came  from;  and  the  others  laid  hold  of  the 
wheelbarrow  and  the  whole  crowd  strolled  merrily  away, 
whistling  meanwhile. 

For  which  please  score  one  for  the  Banded  Seven. 

Unfortunately,  their  triumph  was  destined  to  be  a  very 
transitory  one.  I  blush  to  record  it  of  my  most  cautious 


130  The  Seven  in  a  Trap. 

and  wary  friend  from  Texas,  but  it  is  true,  and  truth  must 
be  told.  Texas  actually  forgot  to  search  his  man  when 
he  held  him  up !  The  result  was  that  the  revolver,  a  ter- 
rible bit  of  evidence,  was  still  in  Chandler's  pocket.  But 
that  was  not  all.  So  sure  were  the  six  plebes  of  their  com- 
plete triumph,  that  they  even  failed  to  tie  their  prisoners 
apart. 

The  last  of  the  party  had  scarcely  turned  away  before 
Bull,  glancing  about  him  with  his  cunning,  catlike  eyes, 
rolled  swiftly  over  until  he  was  at  his  cousin's  side.  He 
bit  at  the  rope  that  tied  the  latter's  hands;  he  could  not 
have  chewed  more  savagely  if  he  had  hold  of  Mallory's 
flesh.  Chandler's  hands  were  free  in  a  moment,  and  it  was 
the  work  of  but  a  few  moments  more  to  whip  out  his  knife 
and  loosen  Bull.  The  sound  of  the  plebes'  merry  laughter 
had  not  died  away  in  the  woods  before  the  two  were  on 
the  trail,  creeping  stealthily  up  behind  their  unsuspecting 
victims  with  their  load  of  gold.  And  Chandler  had  the 
revolver  in  his  hand  now  by  way  of  a  precaution. 

Not  so  very  far  back  in  the  woods  on  the  way  to  High- 
land Falls  stood  an  old  and  dilapidated  icehouse.  Some 
may  remember  that  icehouse;  it  figured  rather  promi- 
nently in  one  of  Mark's  adventures.  Mark  had  not  been 


The  Seven  in  a  Trap.  131 

in  West  Point  a  week  before  his  cheerful  friend  Bull  had 
tried  to  lock  him  up  in  that  place  so  as  to  have  him  absent 
from  reveille.  Bull  had  failed,  fortunately,  and  Mark 
had  turned  the  tables  on  him.  Bull  had  had  unpleasant 
recollections  of  that  icehouse  ever  since. 

It  was  toward  that  building  the  six  happy  and  tri- 
umphant plebes  were  heading;  Mark  had  chanced  to 
think  of  it,  and  of  the  fact  that  its  soft  sawdust  would 
make  a  most  excellent  hiding  place  for  the  wonderful 
treasure.  The  plebes  could  hardly  realize  that  they  had 
that  treasure  safe.  After  all  the  vicissitudes  it  had  been 
through,  all  the  disappointments  and  anxiety  it  had  caused 
them,  it  seemed  to  be  too  good  to  be  true.  And  they  ran 
their  ringers  through  the  chinking  contents  of  the  old 
chest ;  it  was  too  dark  to  see  it,  but  they  could  feel  it,  and 
that  was  enough  to  make  them  chuckle  for  joy. 

They  were  in  a  particularly  jolly  humor  as  they  hur- 
ried through  the  woods.  Dewey  was  as  lively  as  a  kit- 
ten, and  was  being  reminded  of  jokes  enough  to  take  up 
the  rest  of  this  story ;  and  he  kept  it  up  until  the  building 
they  were  looking  for  loomed  up  in  front  of  them. 

The  plebes  lost  no  time  about  the  matter ;  they  opened 


132  The  Seven  in  a  Trap. 

the  creaky  door  and  the  whole  six  of  them  hurried  in  to 
superintend  the  all-important  burial  ceremony. 

Their  figures  had  scarcely  been  lost  in  the  darkness 
before  the  other  two  stole  out  of  the  woods  and  halted  at 
the  edge  of  the  clearing.  The  two  were  stooping  low, 
creeping  with  the  stealth  of  catamounts.  So  silent  were 
they  there  was  not  even  the  snap  of  a  twig  to  betray  them, 
and  when  they  stopped  they  scarcely  dared  breathe  as  they 
listened.  One  of  the  crouching  figures  clutched  a  revolver 
in  his  hand;  the  other's  fists  were  clinched  until  the  nails 
dug  into  his  flesh.  His  teeth  were  set,  and  his  eye» 
gleamed  with  a  hatred  and  resentment  that  he  alone  knew 
how  to  feel.  Bull  Harris  felt  that  his  time  had  come,  the 
time  he  had  waited  for,  for  two  long  months  of  concen- 
trated yearning. 

There  were  sounds  of  muffled  laughter  from  inside,  and 
the  thud  of  the  spade  that  some  one  was  using.  Bull 
glanced  at  his  companion. 

"Are  you  ready  ?"  he  whispered. 

And  the  other  nodded,  though  his  hand  shook. 

"Are  you  afraid  ?"  hissed  Bull.  "It  is  a  risk,  for  that 
fiend  of  a  Texan  may  fight.  You  may  have  to  shoot  Do 
you  hear  me?" 


The  Seven  in  a  Trap.  133 

Once  more  Chandler  nodded,  and  gripped  the  revolver 
like  a  vise. 

There  was  not  another  word  said.  The  two  crouched 
low  and  stepped  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  bushes.  Silently 
as  the  shadows  themselves  they  sped  across  the  open  space. 
And  then  suddenly  Bull  halted  again;  for  the  sound  of 
murmuring  voices  from  inside  the  little  building  grew 
audible  as  they  advanced. 

"B'gee,  it's  a  regular  Captain  Kidd  business !  I  don't 
Ihink  Bull  was  a  success  as  a  Kidd,  that  is,  if  you  spell  it 
with  two  d's.  He " 

"Say,  Mark,"  interrupted  another  voice,  "do  you  re- 
member the  time  that  ole  coyote  tried  to  lock  you  in  hyar  ? 
Doggone  his  boots,  I  bet  he  don't  try  that  very  soon 
again." 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  laughed  Mark,  softly.  "Bull  had  his 
chance  once,  but  he  failed  to  make  the  most  of  it." 

And  at  the  words  Bull  seized  his  cousin  convulsively  by 
the  arm  and  forced  him  back.  Before  the  other  could  see 
what  the  yearling  meant  he  had  sprung  forward,  gasping 
with  rage.  The  next  instant  the  heavy  door  creaked  and 
swung  too. 

Mark  and  his  allies  started  back  in  alarm.    Before  they 


134  The  Seven  in  a  Trap. 

could  make  another  move,  before  they  could  even  think, 
they  heard  the  rusty  lock  grate,  heard  a  heavy  log  jammed 
against  the  door  to  hold  it  tight. 

And  then  a  low,  mocking  laugh  of  triumph  rang  on 
their  ears.    Bull  Harris*  time  had  come  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BUYING  THEIR   RELEASE. 

Otir  business  just  now  is  with  Parson  Stannard,  the 
scholarly  geologist  and  chemist,  sitting  all  by  himself  in 
his  silent  tent  and  diligently  analyzing  his  hematites  and 
gottabites  and  outasights.  The  Parson  made  a  curious 
figure;  you  would  have  laughed  if  you  could  have  seen 
him.  A  solitary  candle  gave  the  flickering  light  by  which 
he  worked. 

The  Parson  was  a  trifle  agitated  about  that  candle,  be- 
cause, as  you  know,  it  is  the  correct  thing  for  a  scholaf 
to  burn  "midnight  oil."  The  midnight  part  was  all  right, 
but  it  took  a  long  stretch  of  the  imagination  to  convert 
tallow  into  kerosene.  That  kind  of  chemistry  was  too 
much  for  even  the  Parson. 

However,  it  had  to  be  borne.  The  Parson  was  seated 
in  tailor  fashion,  in  spite  of  which  posture  he  was  mana- 
ging as  usual  to  display  his  sea-green  socks  to  the  light. 
He  had  a  row  of  bottles  in  a  semicircle  about  him,  like  so 
many  soldiers  on  parade ;  and  at  that  moment  he  was  en- 


136  Buying  Their  Release. 

gaged  in  examining  a  most  interesting  and  complicated  fil- 
trate. 

Parson  Stanard  was  at  the  climax  of  his  important 
night's  work.  It  will  be  remembered  he  was  testing  for 
potassium  nitrate.  He  had  it.  He  had  put  some  of  the 
substance  in  the  fire  and  gotten  the  violet  flame  he  wanted. 
Then,  to  make  sure,  he  reached  forward  and  took  one  of 
the  bottles. 

But  the  Parson  never  made  that  test.  If  the  Banded 
Seven  had  seen  him  at  that  moment  they  would  assuredly 
have  been  frightened,  for  his  face  underwent  a  most 
startling  and  amazing  transformation.  He  had  picked  up 
the  bottle;  glanced  at  its  label.  And  the  next  instant  his 
eyes  seemed  fairly  to  pop  up  out  of  his  head.  His  jaw 
dropped,  his  hands  relaxed,  and  the  wondrous  and  long- 
sought  powder  was  scattered  over  the  floor. 

The  Parson  was  ordinarily  a  quick  thinker,  but  it  took 
a  time  for  that  thought,  whatever  it  was,  with  all  its  hor- 
rible import,  to  flash  across  his  mind.  And  meanwhile 
his  face  was  a  picture  of  consternation. 

Then  suddenly  he  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  perfect  gasp 
of  horror,  knocking  the  candle  over  and  making  the  bot- 
tles rattle. 


Buying  Their  Release.  137 

"By  the  thunderbolts  of  Jove!"  he  cried.  "By  the 
hounds  of  Diana !  By  the  distaff  of  Minerva !" 

The  Parson  was  striding  up  and  down  his  tent  by  this 
time,  utterly  regardless  of  chemistry,  geology,  and  pos- 
sible discovery  in  the  bargain. 

"By  the  steeds  of  Apollo!"  he  muttered.  "By  the 
waters  of  the  Styx,  by  the  scepter  of  Zeus,  by  the  cap  of 
Mercury,  by  the  apple  of  Venus  and  the  bow  of  Ulyssus ! 
By  the  nine  immortals  and  the  Seven  Hills  of  Rome ! " 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  the  agitated  chemist 
was  out  in  the  company  street,  and  striding  away  in  the 
darkness. 

"By  the  eagle  of  Ganymede,  by  the  shield  of  Mars,  by 
the  temple  of  Janus,  by  the  trident  of  Neptune !" 

During  this  the  gentleman  was  speeding  out  of  camp, 
causing  the  sentry,  who  thought  he  was  crazy,  so  much 
alarm  that  he  forgot  to  challenge.  By  the  time  he  recov- 
ered the  Parson  was  gone  and  only  an  echo  of  his  voice 
remained 

"By  the  forge  of  Vulcan,  by  the  cave  of  JEolus,  by  the 
flames  of  Vesta !" 

Not  to  continue  the  catalogue,  which  it  would  be  found 
contained  all  the  mythology  from  Greek  and  Sanskrit  to 


138  Buying  Their  Release. 

Hindoostanee,  suffice  it  to  say  that  the  agitated  scholar 
strode  straight  down  the  road  to  Highland  Falls  with  all 
the  speed  that  a  scholar  could  assume  without  loss  of  dig- 
nity and  breath.  Also  that  he  turned  off  the  road  at  the 
precise  place  his  comrades  had  and  vanished  in  the  woods. 

"They  said  they  were  going  to  bury  it  in  the  icehouse," 
muttered  the  Parson.  "It  is  there  I  shall  endeavor  to  in- 
tercept them  and  inform  them  of  this  most  extraordinary 
conditions  of  affairs.  Yea,  by  the  all-wise,  high-thunder- 
ing Olympian  Zeus." 

The  more  excited  the  Parson  got  the  more  Homeric 
epithets  it  was  his  custom  to  heap  upon  the  helpless  head 
of  his  favorite  divinity;  he  was  very  much  excited  just 
now. 

Fortunately,  the  Parson  did  not  know  just  where  the 
icehouse  was;  he  had  never  been  to  it  but  once,  and  he 
wandered  about  the  woods  hunting  in  vain  for  at  least 
half  an  hour.  Then  he  sat  down  in  despair  and  gasped  for 
breath,  and  listened.  And  in  that  way  he  was  suddenly 
made  aware  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  object  of  his  search. 

A  sound  came  to  his  ears,  a  loud  laugh  in  the  distance. 

4 'Ho,  ho!  You  fools!  Dig  a  tunnel,  hey?  Ho,  ha! 
Well,  suppose  you  dig  it.  I've  a  revolver  here,  and  I'll 


Buying  Their  Release.  139 

Wow  the  blamed  head  off  the  first  man  that  comes  out. 
How  do  you  like  that.  Guess  again,  Mark  Mallory." 

The  Parson  sprang  up  as  if  he  had  sat  down  on  the 

,  proverbial  haystack  with  a  needle  in  it.    That  voice  was 

the  voice  of  the  "enemy,"  Bull  Harris !    A  moment  later 

the  Parson  was  creeping  toward  the  sound  with  stealthi- 

ness  that  would  have  done  credit  to  an  Apache. 

"We  are  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,"  he  gasped.  "By 
the  all-wise,  high-thundering,  far-ruling  Olympian  Zeus !" 

"Ho,  ho!"  roared  the  voice,  nearer  now.  "Think  you 
can  break  the  door  down,  hey  ?  Well !  well !  Guess  I'll 
have  to  put  a  new  log  against  it.  How  do  you  like  that ! 
That's  right !  Whack  away !  Bully !  Keep  it  up  and  you 
may  get  out  by  to-morrow  night.  Ho !  ho !" 

The  unfortunate  Zeus  got  a  few  more  epithets  then, 

and  the  Parson  crept  nearer 'still.    In  fact,  he  got  so  near 

that  peering  out  of  the  bushes,  he  could  spy  the  clearing 

with  the  little  building  and  the  two  figures  dancing  gayly 

,  in  front  of  it.    Bull  Harris  was  fairly  convulsed  with  joy. 

"I've  got  my  revenge !"  he  roared.  "I've  got  it !  I  told 
you  I'd  get  it!  Didn't  I  tell  you  so?  I  told  you  I'd  have 
you  B.  J.  plebes  out  of  here  if  I  died  for  it.  And  now  my 
time's  come!  Hooray!  You'll  be  found  to-morrow,  be- 


140  Buying  Their  Release. 

yond  cadet  limits,  and  out  you  go.    You  can't  deny  it! 
How  do  you  like  it?" 

"You'll  go  to  Halifax!  you  ole  coyote,"  growled  a 
smothered  voice  from  the  inside. 

"Me!  Ho,  ho!  What  do  I  care?  I've  nothing  to  lose. 
I'm  ready  to  go.  But  you — ho,  ho!  Ask  that  fool  Mai- 
lory  how  he  likes  it." 

"Very  well,"  responded  a  cheery  voice.  "You  must  re- 
member that  we've  got  the  treasure." 

"Much  good  it'll  do  you,"  chuckled  Bull.  "You'll  be  in 
State's  prison  in  a  week  or  so.  Ho,  ho!  Let's  tell  'em, 
Chandler.  The  secret's  too  good  a  one  to  keep.  Ask 
Texas  what  became  of  the  revolver  he  dropped  in  the  hotel 
last  night  playing  burglar.  The  revolver  with  the  initials 
J.  P.  on  it." 

That  was  a  thunderbolt.  From  the  way  it  struck  the  hor- 
rified prisoners  dumb.  Bull  knew  it,  and  laughed  with 
yet  more  malignant  glee. 

"You  can't  prove  it !"  roared  Texas  furiously. 

"Can't  I  ?"  chuckled  Bull.    "You'd  hate  to  have  me  try.  , 
It  would  take  all  your  gold  to  get  you  out  of  that  scrape, 
I  fancy.     Ho,  ho!     Court-martial!     State's  prison!     I 
guess  I've  got  the  best  of  it  for  once." 


Buying  Their  Release.  141 

"It's  the  first  time,"  growled  Texas. 

During  all  this  the  Parson  had  been  hiding  in  the 
bushes,  trembling,  gasping,  slowly  taking  in  the  situation, 
the  dilemma  his  friends  were  in.  All  thoughts  of  the  ex- 
citement under  which  he  had  originally  set  out  were  gone. 
He  was  cudgeling  his  head  to  see  what  he  was  to  do  to 
turn  the  tide  of  battle. 

It  was  a  difficult  problem,  for  Chandler  had  a  revolver 
and  the  Parson  had  none.  This  was  evidently  a  case 
where  cunning  and  not  brute  force  were  to  tell,  and  the 
Parson  knitted  his  learned  brows  thoughtfully.  Mean- 
while the  conversation  was  going  on,  and  taking  a  new 
turn.  Bull  Harris  had  a  proposition. 

"I  suppose  you  fellows  are  ready  to  acknowledge  you're 
beaten,"  he  sneered.  "And  I  suppose  you've  got  sense 
enough  to  see  what  a  fix  you're  in." 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  Seven  saw  it  clearly,  but 
they  were  not  ready  to  acknowledge  it  to  Bull. 

"I  just  want  to  say,"  the  latter  continued,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  "that  there's  a  way  for  you  fools  to  get  out 
of  this.  If  you  don't  choose  to  do  it  you  may  as  well 
make  up  your  minds  to  stay  all  night." 

"I  suppose,"  responded  Mark,  laughing  at  this  intro 


142  Buying  Their  Release. 

duction  to  a  very  obvious  offer.  "I  suppose  you  think 
we're  going  to  let  you  get  hold  of  our  treasure.  I  suppose 
you  think  we'll  purchase  our  freedom  with  that.'* 

"That's  what  I  do,"  said  Bull,  "else  you  stay." 

"We'll  stay,"  laughed  Mark,  coolly.  "And  you  can  go 
to  blazes." 

This  proposition  was  not  lost  upon  the  Parson,  lying  in 
the  bushes  outside.  The  Parson  had  drunk  in  every  word 
of  it,  and  for  some  reason  began  to  gasp  and  wriggle 
with  suppressed  excitement  as  he  realized  the  meaning  of 
the  offer.  As  Mark  spoke  the  last  time  the  Parson  slid 
back  into  the  woods  and  stole  softly  around  to  the  rear  of 
the  little  building. 

A  few  moments  later,  Mark,  to  his  astonishment,  heard 
a  faint  whisper  in  one  of  the  crevices  at  the  back.  "Say, 
Mark!"  That  voice  Mark  would  have  known  had  he 
heard  it  in  China.  He  ran  to  the  spot  and  there  was  a 
minute's  quick  conversation.  At  the  end  of  it  the  Parson 
turned  and  crept  way  again,  unseen  by  the  two  in  front. 

Perhaps  five  minutes  later  Bull  Harris,  who  was  still 
crowing  merrily,  was  electrified  to  learn  that  the  plebes 
had  reconsidered  their  first  defiance — that  the  gold  was 
his! 


Buying  Their  Release.  143 

"I  guess  we'll  have  to  give  it  up,"  said  Mark,  briefly. 
"You've  got  us,  and  that's  all  that  there  is  to  it." 

"Do  you  mean,"  cried  Bull,  unable  to  hide  his  joy,  "that 
if  we  let  you  out  and  give  you  the  revolver  you  are  will- 
ing to  give  up  the  treasure  altogether?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mark.    "We  are." 

"But  how  am  I  trust  you  ?"  demanded  Bull.  "If  I  open 
the  door  how  do  I  know  you  won't " 

"I've  said  I  wont !"  interrupted  Mark,  with  angry  em- 
phasis. "You  know  me,  I  guess." 

It  was  a  funny  thing.  Bull  himself  would  have  lied  all 
day  without  his  conscience  troubling  him.  But  somehow 
or  other  he  was  sure  that  Mark  wouldn't.  In  spite  of  his 
cousin's  protestations,  he  stepped  forward,  removed  the 
barricades  and  turned  the  key. 

The  six  plebes  came  out,  looking  sheepish  enough. 
Texas  received  his  lost  revolver  meekly,  though  he  felt 
like  braining  Bui!  with  it.  A  minute  later  the  six  hurried 
off  into  the  woods,  leaving  Bull  and  his  cousin  to  gloat 
for  hours  over  the  chest  of  gold  they  left  inside. 

Truly,  it  was  a  triumph  for  Bull. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

BULL   HARRIS   REAPS   HIS   REWARD. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  following  day,  and  the  scene 
was  Highland  Falls.  It  was  about  twelve  o'clock  at  night, 
to  be  more  exact  as  to  time ;  as  to  place,  the  scene  was  a 
low  tavern  on  the  roadside. 

This  hour  was  long  after  the  time  that  cadets  are  sup- 
posed to  be  in  their  tents  asleep,  but  as  we  have  seen, 
cadets  do  not  always  do  as  they  are  supposed  to.  It  is 
safe  to  say  that  in  spite  of  all  the  talk  about  the  severity 
of  West  Point  discipline,  if  the  commandant  of  cadets 
should  take  it  into  his  head  to  wander  through  Camp 
McPherson  every  night  for  a  week  running,  he  would 
find  some  things  to  surprise  him.  He  might  not  find  any 
geological  chemists  hard  at  work,  but  he  might  find  a 
small  game  of  some  sort  going  on  on  the  sly,  and  he'd  be 
sure  to  find  a  surreptitious  banquet  or  two.  He  might 
also  see  occasional  parties  steal  past  an  obliging  sentry 
who  was  looking  the  other  way.  It  is  probable,  however, 
that  none  of  this  would  surprise  him  very  much,  for  he 
did  it  all  himself  in  his  day. 


Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward.        145 

There  are  .always  bolder  and  more  reckless  spirits  who 
are  ever  ready  for  such  a  lark,  enjoying  it  in  proportion 
to  the  risk  they  run.  There  are  always  some  among  these 
who  think  it  manly  to  drink  and  smoke,  and  frequent  low 
places ;  it  is  upon  one  of  these  latter  assemblages  that  we  , 
are  about  to  look  in.  We  must  not  mind  a  rather  un- 
pleasant odor  of  bad  tobacco,  or  a  still  more  unpleasant 
odor  of  bad  liquor. 

It  is  quite  needless  to  say  that  one  of  the  crowd  was 
Bull  Harris;  it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  crowd  of  cadets 
amusing  themselves  as  these  were  without  Bull  among 
them.  This  tavern  was  the  regular  resort  of  him  and  his 
"gang"  on  occasions  when  they  visited  Highland  Falls. 
It  has  not  been  mentioned  before,  because  the  less  said 
about  such  places  the  better. 

Bull  liked  this  place  for  many  reasons.  It  was  quiet, 
and  there  was  nobody  to  disturb  them.  Then,  too,  the 
proprietor,  a  fat  Irishman,  known  as  "Ja^e»"  was  a  man 
who  told  no  secrets  and  minded  his  own  business,  thus 
keeping  an  ideal  place  for  &  crowd  of  young  "gentlemen" 
to  come  for  a  lark.  Bull  was  there  to-night,  and  what 
was  more  important,  he  was  acting  as  host.  Bull  was 
"blowing  off"  his  friends. 


146       Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward. 

There  was  first,  his  Cousin  Chandler,  whom  we  know ; 
then  there  was  Gus  Murray,  who  needs  but  little  introduc- 
tion. As  an  ally  and  worshiper  of  Bull  and  a  malignant 
enemy  of  Mark  Malloi  y's,  Gus  Murray  yielded  to  no  one, 
with  the  possible  exception  of  Merry  Vance,  the  shallow 
and  sour-faced  youth  on  his  right.  The  cause  of  Merry's 
pessimistic  complexion  we  once  guessed  to  be  indigestion ; 
inasmuch  as  he  was  just  then  pouring  down  his  third 
dose  of  bad  brandy  a  revision  of  this  surmise  will  be  al- 
lowed. To  complete  the  party,  there  was  one  more,  a 
very  small  one,  our  young  friend,  Baby  Edwards,  a 
sweet-tempered  little  sneak  who  had  not  even  manliness 
enough  to  be  vicious. 

When  we  peered  in  the  party  was  in  full  swing.  Baby 
Edwards  had  half  gone  to  sleep,  having  drunk  two 
glasses  of  beer.  Bull  had  just  completed  for  the  third 
time  a  graphic  description  of  how  that  Mallory  had  been 
duped,  a  story  which  was  a  never-failing  source  of  inter- 
est and  hilarity  to  the  rest,  who  were  whacking  their 
glasses  on  the  table  and  cheering  merrily,  in  fact,  so  mer- 
rily that  the  cautious  proprietor  was  forced  to  come  to  the 
door  and  protest. 


Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward.        147 

"How  much  did  you  say  it  was  worth?"  demanded 
Vance,  after  the  man  had  gone  away  again. 

"Fifty  thousand  dollars,"  chuckled  Bull.  "Fifty  thou- 
sand if  a  cent.  Fill  'em  up,  boys.  Chandler  and  I  calcu- 
lated it  weighed  two  hundred  pounds.  Whoop !" 

Merry's  eyes  glistened  feverishly  as  he  listened, 
whether  from  brandy  or  from  what  he  heard  it  would  be 
hard  to  say. 

"Whereabouts  is  it  now?"  demanded  he.  "Are  you 
sure  Mallory  can't  get  it?" 

"Dead  sure,"  laughed  Bull.  "Do  you  suppose  I'd  be 
fool  enough  to  let  Mallory  sneak  up  behind  me  twice. 
Not  much !  It's  safe." 

"Whereabouts?" 

"Oh,  it's  buried  up  here  in  the  woods  a  piece,"  said  the 
other,  cautiously.  "It's  where  we  can  get  it  any  time  we 
want  to.  Oh,  say,  but  it's  fine  to  know  you're  rich — no 
trouble  about  paying  any  confounded  bills.  And  that 
Irish  villain  Jake  can't  kick  because  we  drink  more  than 
we  can  pay  for.  Whoop !  Help  yourselves !" 

The  others  were  helping  themselves  for  all  they  were 
worth.  It  seldom  happened  to  that  crowd  to  get  a  chance 
such  as  this,  and  cadet  duties  might  go  to  blazes  in  the 


14$       Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward. 

meantime.  They  were  singing  and  shouting  and  fast  get- 
ting themselves  into  a  very  delightful  state,  indeed,  keenly 
enjoying  themselves  every  minute  of  the  time,  so  they 
thought. 

Fun  like  that  can't  last  very  long,  however.  Baby  Ed- 
wards went  to  sleep  as  I  said !  it  is  to  be  hoped  he  dreamed 
of  better  things.  Merry  Vance  got  quiet  and  stupid  also, 
while  Gus  Murray  waxed  cross  and  ugly.  So  pretty  soon 
Bull  concluded  it  was  time  to  go  home.  Anybody  who 
glanced  at  the  bottles  scattered  about  on  the  floor  and 
table  would  have  thought  so  too. 

At  this  stage  of  the  game  Jake  bowed  himself  in.  Jake 
was  usually  a  Nemesis,  an  undesired  person  altogether,  for 
he  came  to  collect.  But  Bull  didn't  mind  this  time. 

"I  wants  me  money,"  began  the  man,  surlily,  gazing 
about  him  at  the  scene  of  destruction.  "An'  what's  more, 
I  wants  to  say  you  fellows  has  got  to  make  less  noise  here 
nights.  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  my  license  taken  away  for  no 
cadet.  See?" 

Bull  gazed  at  him  sneeringly  during  this  discourse. 

"Anything  more?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  there  is.  You  fellers  ain't  a-comin'  here  no  more 
till  you  pays  yer  bills.  This  is  the  third  time  youVe  tried 


Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward.        149 

to  let  'em  run,  an'  by  thunder  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  stand  it.  I 
don't  believe  you've  got  no  money  anyhow,  an'  I'm  goin' 
to  stop  this " 

"Oh,  shut  up,  confound  ye!"  broke  in  Bull,  impa- 
tiently. "Who  asked  you  to  trust  them  ?  Don't  be  a 
fool !  Take  that  and  shut  up  your  mouth." 

These  not  over  polite  remarks  came  as  Bull  flung  three 
or  four  of  the  five-dollar  gold  pieces  with  a  lordly  air  onto 
the  table.  The  fellow  eyed  them  greedily,  then  gathered 
them  up  and  left  the  room. 

Bull  turned  to  rouse  his  companions,  chuckling  to  him- 
self as  he  did  so. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  said  he.    "Get  up  there  and  hustle." 

Baby  Edwards,  having  been  kicked  unceremoniously 
to  the  floor,  got  up  growling.  Merry  Vance  likewise 
wanted  to  fight  Gus,  who  woke  him.  But  the  five  got 
started  finally  and  made  for  the  door.  Beyond  that,  how- 
ever, they  did  not  get,  for  there  they  encountered  the 
brawny  form  of  Jake. 

"Stop!"  said  he,  briefly. 

"What  do  you  want  now?"  demanded  Bull. 

The  other  extended  his  hand,  in  which  lay  the  coins. 

"Don't  want  'em,"  said  he. 


150        Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward. 

Bull  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Don't  want  'em !"  he  echoed.  "In  the  name  of  Heaven 
why  not?" 

"No  good,"  said  the  other,  sententiously. 

The  effect  of  those  two  words  upon  Bull  was  like  that 
of  a  bullet;  he  staggered  back  against  the  wall,  gasping, 
his  eyes  fairly  starting  out  of  his  head.  The  others  un- 
derstood dimly  and  turned  pale. 

It  took  several  minutes  for  that  idea  to  dawn  upon  Bull 
Harris  in  all  its  frightful  horror.  When  he  realized  it  he 
sprang  forward  with  a  shriek. 

"No  good !"  he  cried.  "Great  Heavens,  man,  what  do 
you  mean?" 

The  proprietor's  response  was  brief,  but  effective.  He 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  brought  out  a  shining 
stone.  He  rubbed  it  against  the  gold  and  held  it  up  so 
that  Bull  might  see  the  color  that  resulted. 

"  Tain't  gold,"  said  he.    "It's  counterfeit." 

Bull  staggered  back  against  the  wall  again.    Counter- 

;  feit !  Counterfeit !    He  saw  it  all  now !    Saw  why  Mallory 

had  given  it  up !    Saw  what  a  fool  he — Bull  Harris — had 

been!     Saw  that  he  hac  let  them  out  of  the  trap,  given 

them  the  weapon,  the  only  proof.    Let  them  go  in  safety, 


Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward.        151 

leaving  him  a  chest  full  of  brass.  It  made  Bull  sick  to 
think  of  it.  Oh,  surely  it  could  not  be  true ! 

Another  thought  flashed  over  him  then.  Why  had 
Mallory  fought  so  for  it,  why  been  so  reluctant  to  give  it 
up?  No,  it  must  be  genuine!  It  must  be  a  mistake! 
Perhaps  those  few  were  bad,  but  all  the  coins  could  not 
be.  Trembling  with  dread,  Bull  sprang  forward, 
wrenched  the  stone  from  the  hand  of  the  astonished 
"Jake,"  burst  out  of  the  place,  and  sped  away  up  the  road. 

The  man  was  at  his  heels  at  this  effort  to  dodge  him 
without  paying.  Behind  him  rushed  the  other  four,  fright- 
ened and  sobered  by  this  terrible  blow.  But  Bull's  anxiety 
lent  speed  to  him  and  he  easily  outdistanced  the  crowd. 

When  they  came  upon  him  again  they  found  him  in  the 
woods  on  his  knees,  digging  savagely  in  the  ground  with 
his  fingers.  In  response  to  his  shouts  they  flung  them- 
selves down  to  help  him,  while  the  .breathless  Irishman 
stood  by  and  stared  in  amazement. 

Bull  was  in  a  frenzy.  He  fairly  tore  his  way  down  to 
the  chest,  and  seizing.it  by  the  handles,  jerked  it  out  with 
the  strength  of  a  Hercules.  He  flung  back  the  lid,  jerked 
the  bit  of  rock  from  his  pocket,  and  seized  a  handful  of 
the  coins. 


152        Bull  fiarris  Reaps  His  Reward. 

A  moment  more  and  he  staggered  back,  and  sank  to  the 
ground,  limp  and  helpless. 

The  chest  of  "gold"  was  worthless. 

****** 

We  must  revert  to  the  conversation  of  the  Seven  the ' 
night  before,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  are  curious. 
Mark  and  his  friends,  as  they  disappeared  in  the  woods, 
were  joined  by  the  solemn  Parson.    You  may  believe  that 
it  was  a  merry  crowd. 

"Look  here,  Parson,"  demanded  Mark,  the  first  thing. 
"Are  you  sure  that  money  is  no  good  ?" 

"Sure?"  echoed  the  Parson.  "Sure  as  I  am  that  the 
most  reliable  and  mathematical  of  all  the  sciences  is  true. 
Perhaps  you  will  wish,  gentlemen,  that  I  explain  to  you 
the  most  extraordinary  state  of  affairs.  I  shall  do  so, 
yea,  by  Zeus.  I  feel  that  I  owe  it  to  myself  by  way  of 
explanation  of  a  most  unaccountable — ahem — blunder  I 
have  made." 

The  Parson  drew  a  long  breath  and  continued. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "when  first  we  set  out  upon  that 
treasure  hunt  I  took  with  me  two  bottles  of  acid.  One 
was  a  test  for  the  presence  of  argenic  compounds,  that  is, 


Bull  Harris  Reaps  His  Reward.        153 

silver,  and  the  other  for  what  is  popularly  designated  gold. 
In  the  excitement  of  the  discovery  of  the  chest,  to  my 
everlasting  humiliation,  be  it  said,  I  used  the  wrong  acid. 
The  reaction  I  got  proved  the  presence  of  copper.  I 
thought  it  was  gold." 

After  this  extraordinary  speech  of  self-abnegation  the 
Parson  bowed  his  head  in  shame.  It  was  at  least  a  minute 
before  He  could  muster  the  courage  to  go  on.  Truly  that 
had  been  a  frightful  blunder  for  an  analytical  chemist  to 
make. 

"To-night,"  he  continued  at  last,  "I  was  testing  for  po- 
tassium, and  I  reached  for  that  bottle  of  gold  reagent.  I 
expected  to  find  it  half  empty.  I  found  it  full,  and  I  knew 
in  an  instant  that  I  could  not  have  used  a  drop  of  it.  Gen- 
tlemen, that  told  me  the  story  of  my  error.  I  shall  do 
penance  for  it  as  long  as  I  may  live." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE   SEVEN    MAKE  A   NEW    MOVE. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  man,  what  has  happened?" 

The  cause  of  this  exclamation  was  Dewey.  At  the  mo- 
ment his  uniform  was  dirty  and  torn,  and  his  face  was 
far  from  handsome.  It  was  bruised  and  blue  in  lumps, 
and  there  were  ugly  places  of  a  bright  red,  lending  a 
startling  effect  indeed. 

The  speaker  was  Mark.  He  had  been  sitting  at  his 
tent  door  rubbing  his  gun  diligently,  but  he  sprang  up  in 
alarm  when  he  espied  the  other. 

"What  on  earth  has  happened  to  you,  Dewey?"  he  re- 
peated. 

Dewey  laughed  to  himself,  in  spite  of  his  sorry  condi- 
tion. 

"I  don't  exactly  know,"  he  said.  'B'gee,  I've  forgotten 
lots  of  things  in  the  last  ten  minutes.  I'll  come  in  and 
think  'em  over  and  tell  you." 

He  entered  the  tent,  and  after  gazing  at  himself  rue- 
fully in  the  looking-glass  that  hung  by  the  tent  pole,  wet 
a  towel  and  fell  to  washing  things  gently. 


The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move.        155 

"B'gee!"  he  muttered,  "Mark  Mallory,  there's  going 
to  be  no  end  of  trouble  on  account  of  this." 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet,"  said  the  other.  "You  don't 
mean  that  you've  been  getting  hazed  some  more  ?" 

"Would  you  call  it  hazing,"  responded  Dewey,  "if  you'd 
been  pummeled  until  you  looked  like  rare  beef?  You 
needn't  be  getting  angry  about  it.  We'll  have  plenty  of 
time  for  that  later.  Meantime,  just  you  listen  to  my  tale 
of  woe,  b'gee!  I  was  down  on  Flirtation  Walk  a  while 
ago,  off  in  a  lonely  part.  And  all  of  a  sudden  I  came 
across  half  a  dozen  yearlings.  One  of  them  was  Bull 
Harris,  and  when  he  saw  me  he  turned  to  the  other  cadets 
and  called:  There's  one  of  the  gang  now!  We  might 
just  as  well  start  at  what  we  agreed  on.'  And  then,  b'gee, 
they  started.  Do  you  think  that  eye'll  shut  up  entirely?" 

"What  did  they  do?"  demanded  Msrk,  his  blood  boil- 
ing as  he  surveyed  his  comrade's  bruises. 

"Well,  b'gee,  they  sailed  up,  in  the  first  place,  and  began 
a  lot  of  talking.  'You  belong  to  that  Mallory  gang,  don't 
you?'  said  Bull  Harris.  'Yes,'  says  I,  'I  do,  and  I'm  proud 
of  it,  too.  What's  the  matter  with  Mallory?'  'Matter?* 
roared  Gus  Murray.  'B'gee,  he's  the  confoundedest  fresh- 
est plebe  that  ever  came  to  this  academy.  Hasn't  he  dared 


156        The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move. 

to  refuse  to  let  us  haze  him  ?  Hasn't  he  played  all  kinds 
of  tricks  upon  us,  made  life  miserable  for  us  ?  Hasn't  he 
even  dared  to  go  to  the  hop,  something  no  plebe  has  ever 
dared  to  do  in  the  history  of  West  Point?'  'Seeing  that 
you're  asking  the  question,  b'gee,'  I  said,  'I  don't  mind 
telling  you  by  way  of  answer  that  he  has,  and  also  that  he's 
outwitted  you  and  licked  you  at  every  turn.  And  that 
he'll  do  it  again  the  first  chance  he  gets,  and  b'gee,  I'll  be 
there  to  help  him,  too!  How's  that?'  " 

Here  the  reckless  youngster  paused  while  he  removed 
the  cork  of  a  vaseline  bottle ;  then  he  continued : 

"That  made  old  Bull  wild;  he  hates  you  like  fury, 
Mark,  and  he's  simply  wild  about  the  way  we  fooled  him 
with  that  treasure.  He  began  to  rear  around  like  a  wild 
man.  'If  you  fool  plebes  think  we're  going  to  stand  your 
impudence/  he  yelled,  'you're  mistaken!  I  want  you  to 
understand  that  we've  found  out  about  that  confounded 
organization  Mallory's  gotten  up  among  the  plebes  to 
fight  us " 

"Did  he  say  that  ?"  cried  Mark,  in  surprise.  "How  did 
they  learn?" 

"They  didn't,"  said  Dewey.  "They  don't  know  we  call 
it  the  Banded  Seven,  or  anything  else  about  it,  but  they've 


The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move.        157 

seen  us  together  so  much  when  they've  tried  to  haze  us 
that  they've  sort  of  guessed  it.  Anyway,  they've  deter- 
mined to  break  it  up,  b'gee." 

"They  have!    How?" 

"Simply  by  walloping  every  man  in  it,  b'gee.  And  they 
started  on  yours  truly.  The  whole  crowd  piled  on  at  once, 
Mark." 

"The  cowards !"  exclaimed  Mark. 

"Well,  I  gave  'em  a  good  time,  anyway,"  laughed 
Dewey,  whose  natural  light-heartedness  had  not  been 
marred  in  the  least.  "I  made  for  Bull.  B'gee,  I  was 
bound  one  of  them  would  be  sorry,  and  I  chose  him.  I 
lammed  him  two  beauties  and  tumbled  him  into  a  ditch. 
But  by  that  time  they  had  me  down.  And " 

"Where  are  the  rest  of  the  Seven  ?"  cried  Mark,  spring- 
ing up  impatiently.  "By  George,  I'm  going  to  get  square 
for  this  outrage  if  it's  the  last  thing  I  ever  do  in  my  life. 
I'll  fight  them  fair  just  as  long  as  they  want  it.  I'm  ready 
to  meet  any  man  they  send,  as  I  did.  But,  by  jingo,  I 
won't  stand  the  tricks  of  that  miserable  coward  Bull  Har- 
ris another  day.  He's  done  nothing  but  try  to  get  me  into 
scrapes  since  the  day  I  came  here,  and  refused  to  let  him 


158        The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move. 

haze  me.  And  now  I'm  going  to  stop  it  or  bust.  Where 
are  the  rest  of  the  fellows?" 

"I  don't  know,"  began  Dewey,  but  he  was  interrupted 
by  an  answer  from  an  unexpected  quarter.  Texas  came 
rushing  down  the  company  street  and  bounded  into  Mark's 
tent. 

He,  too,  was  marred  with  the  scars  of  battle.  His  cloth- 
ing was  soiled,  and  his  bronzed  features  were  sadly  awry. 
And  Texas  was  wild. 

"Wow !"  he  roared,  his  words  fairly  tripping  each  other 
up,  in  such  rapid  succession  did  they  come.  "Whoop! 
Say,  you  fellows,  you  dunno  what  you  been  a-missin' !  I 
ain't  had  so  much  fun  since  the  day  I  come  hyar.  Jes' 
had  the  rousin'est  ole  scrap  I  ever  see.  There  was  a 
dozen  of  'em,  them  ole  yearlin's,  and  they  all  piled  on  to 
once.  Whoop !  Mark,  git  up  thar  an'  come  out  an'  help 
me  finish  it." 

Texas  was  prancing  around  the  tent  in  excitement,  his 
fingers  twitching  furiously.  He  gasped  for  breath  for  a 
moment,  and  then  continued. 

"It  was  that  air  ole  Bull  Harris  and  his  gang.  Bull 
had  been  a-fightin'  somebody  else,  cuz  one  eye  was  black." 

"Bully,  b'gee !"  put  in  Dewey. 


The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move.        159 

"An'  he  was  mad's  a  hornet.  'Look  a  yere/  says  he, 
*you  rarin'  ole  hyena  of  a  cowboy,  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand that  you  an'  that  air  scoundrel  Mallory' an', 

Mark,  I  never  gave  him  a  chance  for  another  word,  jes' 
piled  right  in.  An'  then  all  the  rest  of  'em  lit  on  to  me 
an'  there  was  the  wust  mess  I  ever  heerd  tell  of." 

Angry  though  Mark  was,  he  could  not  help  being 
amused  at  the  hilarity  of  his  bloodthirsty  friend  and  fel- 
low-warrior, who  was  still  dancing  excitedly  about  the 
tent. 

"Who  won  ?"  inquired  Mark. 

"I  dunno,"  said  Texas.  "I  never  had  a  chance  to  find 
out.  First  they  jumped  on  me  and  smothered  me,  an' 
then  I  got  out  and  jumped  on  them,  only  there  was  so 
many  I  couldn't  sit  on  'em  all  to  once,  an'  so  I  had  to  git 
up  ag'in.  Oh,  say,  'twas  great.  I  wish  some  o'  the  boys 
could  a'  been  thar  to  see  that  air  rumpus.  An'  I  ain't 
through  yit,  either.  I'm  a-goin'  to  lambast  them  air  year- 
lin's — what  d'ye  say,  Mark?" 

Texas  gazed  at  his  friend  inquiringly;  and  Mark 
gripped  him  by  the  hand. 

"I'll  help  you,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  settle  that  crowd 
for  once  and  for  all  if  I  have  to  put  them  in  hospital. 


160        The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move: 

And  now  let's  go  out  and  hunt  for  the  rest  of  the  Seven 
and  see  what's  happened  to  them." 

Mark's  patience  was  about  exhausted;  he  had  stood 
much  from  Bull  Harris,  but  as  he  left  that  tent  and  strode 
out  of  camp  with  the  other  two  at  his  side,  there  was  a 
set  look  about  his  mouth  and  a  gleam  in  his  eyes  that 
meant  business. 

He  had  scarcely  crossed  the  color  line  that  marked  the 
western  edge  of  the  camp  before  he  caught  sight  of  one 
more  of  the  Seven.  And  Mark  had  seen  him  but  an  in- 
stant before  the  thought  flashed  over  him  that  this  one  had 
been  through  just  the  same  experience  as  Texas  and 
"B'gee"  Dewey. 

The  new  arrival  was  Parson  Stanard.  His  face  was 
not  scarred,  but  it  was  red  with  anger,  and  his  collar  was 
wilted  by  excitement  which  betrayed  itself  even  in  his 
hasty  stride  as  he  walked. 

"Yea,  by  Zeus!"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  reached  his 
friends.  "Gentlemen,  I  have  tidings.  The  enemy  is  risen ! 
Even  now  he  is  hot  upon  our  trail.  My  spirit  burns  within 
me  like  that  of  Paul  Revere,  the  messenger  of  liberty, 
riding  forth  from  good  old  Boston  town.  Boston,  cradle 
of  liberty,  father  of -" 


The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move.        161 

The  Parson's  news  was  exciting,  but  even  then  he  could 
not  withstand  the  temptation  to  deliver  a  discourse  upon 
the  merits  of  his  native  town.  Mark  had  to  set  him 
straight  again. 

"Has  Bull  been  after  you,  too?"  he  asked. 

"Yea !"  said  the  Parson.  "He  has,  and  that,  too,  with 
exceeding  great  vehemence.  Truly  the  persistency  of  the 
yearling  is  surprising;  like  the  giant  Antaeus  of  yore,  he 
springeth  up  afresh  for  the  battle,  when  one  thinks  he  is 
subdued  at  last.  Gentlemen,  they  attacked  me  absolutely 
without  provocation.  I  swear  it  by  the  undying  flame  of 
Vesta.  I  was  peregrinating  peacefully  when  I  met  them. 
And  without  even  a  word,  forsooth,  they  sprang  at  me. 
And  mighty  was  the  anger  that  blazed  up  in  my  breast, 
yea,  by  Zeus !  As  Homer,  bard  immortal  of  the  Hellenic 
land,  sang  of  the  great  Achilles,  'his  black  heart' — er,  let 
me  see.  By  Zeus,  how  does  that  line  go  ?  It  is  in  the  first 
book,  I  know,  and  about  the  two  hundred  and  seventy- 
fifth  line,  but  really  I " 

"Never  mind  Homer,"  laughed  Mark.  "What  about 
Harris?  What  did  you  do?" 

"I  replied  to  their  onslaughts  in  the  words  of  Fitz 


162        The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move. 

James :  This  rock  shall  fly  from  its  firm  base  as  soon  as 
I!'  The  two  who  reached  me  first  I  did  prostrate  with 
two  concussions  that  have  paralyzed  my  prehensile  ap- 
paratus  " 

"Bully  for  the  Parson !"  roared  Texas. 

"And  then/'  continued  the  other  sheepishly,  "observing, 
by  Zeus,  that  there  were  at  least  a  dozen  of  them,  I  con- 
cluded to  think  better  of  my  resolution  and  effect  a  re- 
treat, remembering  the  saying  that  he  who  runs  away  may 
live  to  renew  his  efforts  upon  some  more  auspicious  occa- 
sion/' 

The  Parson  looked  very  humble  indeed  at  this  last  con- 
fession ;  Mark  cheered  him  somewhat  by  saying  it  was  the 
most  sensible  thing  he  could  have  done.  And  Dewey  still 
further  warmed  his  scholarly  heart  by  a  distinction  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  even  Lindley  Murray,  the 
grammarian. 

"You  didn't  break  your  resolution,"  said  Dewey. 

"Why  not?"  inquired  Stanard. 

"Because,  b'gee,  you  vowed  you  wouldn't  fly.  And  you 
haven't  flown  since,  that  I  see.  What  you  did  was  to  flee, 
b'gee.  If  you  flyed  you  wouldn't  have  fleed,  but  since  you 


The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move.        163 

fleed  you  didn't  fly.  Some  day,  b'gee,  when  you've  been 
bitten,  you'll  understand  the  difference  between  a  fly  and 
a  flea.  You'll  find  that  a  flea  can  fly  a  great  deal  faster  than 
a  fly  can  flee,  b'gee,  and  that " 

Somebody  jumped  on  Dewey  and  smothered  him  again 
just  then,  but  it  wasn't  a  yearling.  He  bobbed  up  se- 
renely a  minut£  later,  to  find  that  the  Parson's  grammat- 
ical old  ribs  had  been  tickled  by  the  distinction  so  care- 
fully made. 

"People  are  very  grammatical  in  Boston,  aren't  they, 
Parson?"  inquired  Dewey.  "Reminds  me  of  a  story  I 
once  heard,  b'gee — you  fellows  needn't  groan  so,  because 
this  is  the  first  story  I've  told  to-day.  Fellow  popped  the 
question  to  his  best  girl.  She  said,  'No,  b'gee/  'Say  it 
again,'  says  he.  'No !'  says  she.  'Thanks,'  says  he.  Two 
negatives  make  an  affirmative.  You've  promised.  Where 
shall  we  go  for  our  honeymoon?'  B'gee,  Parson,  there's 
;  a  way  for  you  to  fool  your  best  girl.  She's  sure  to  say  no, 
and  I  don't  blame  her  either." 

The  lively  Dewey  subsided  for  a  moment  after  that. 
But  he  couldn't  keep  quiet  very  long,  especially  since  n^ 
one  took  up  the  conversation. 


164        The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move. 

"Speaking  of  oranges,"  said  he,  "reminds  me  of  a  story 
I  once  heard,  b'gee " 

"Who  was  speaking  of  oranges  ?"  cried  Texas. 

"I  was,"  said  Dewey  solemnly,  and  then  fled  for  his 
life. 

The  other  three  members  of  the  Banded  Seven  arrived 
upon  the  scene  just  then  and  put  an  end  to  hostilities. 
Chauncey,  Sleepy  and  Indian  had  not  had  the  luck  to  meet 
with  the  yearlings  yet,  and  they  listened  in  amazement 
and  indignation  while  Mark  told  the  story  of  Bull  Harris 
and  his  latest  tactics. 

"Bless  my  soul,"  gasped  Indian  in  horror.  "I — I'm  go- 
ing home  this  very  day !" 

"I'll  go  home  myself,"  vowed  Mark,  "if  I  don't  suc- 
ceed in  stopping  this  sort  of  business.  I  honestly  think  I'd 
report  it  to  the  authorities,  only  Bull  knows  I've  been  out 
of  bounds  and  he'd  tell.  As  it  is,  I'm  going  to  settle  him 
some  other  way,  and  a  way  he'll  remember,  too." 

"When?"  cried  the  others. 

"This  very  night." 

"And  how?" 

"The  cave !"  responded  Mark ;  and  it  was  evident  from 


The  Seven  Make  a  New  Move.        165 

the  way  the  others  jumped  at  the  word  that  the  sugges- 
tion took  their  fancy. 

And  in  half  a  minute  more  the  Seven  had  sworn  by  all 
the  solemn  oaths  the  classic  Parson  could  invent  that  they 
would  haze  Bull  Harris  and  his  cronies  in  "the  cave"  that 
night. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE    CAPTURE    OF     MARK. 

The  afternoon  of  that  momentous  day  passed  without 
incident.  Mark  noticed  Bull  Harris  glowering  at  him  as 
he  passed  his  tent,  but  beyond  that  the  "subduing"  pro- 
gramme got  no  further.  The  Banded  Seven  kept  near  to 
camp,  so  as  to  prevent  it. 

That  is,  all  of  them  but  one ;  Sleepy  was  that  one.  The 
lanky  farmer  was  a  member  of  the  guard  that  day,  get- 
ting his  first  lessons  in  the  terrible  dangers  of  sentry  duty 
at  Camp  McPherson.  Now  it  was  necessary  for  some  one 
to  go  up  and  fix  that  cave  for  the  night's  work,  and  since 
Sleepy  succeeded  in  getting  excused  during  his  four  hours 
off  duty  that  afternoon,  he  was  unanimously  elected  to  be 
the  one  to  attend  to  the  task. 

It  was  to  clear  away  the  effects  of  that  treasure  hunt 
that  Sleepy  went.    He  removed  all  traces  of  the  Parson' 
energetic  digging.    Also  he  fixed  quite  a  number  of  other 
things,  according  to  Mark's  well-planned  directions. 

"It's  evident  to  me,"  said  Mark,  "from  the  fact  that 


The  Capture  of  Mark.  167 

Bull  didn't  bother  me  this  morning,  hating  me  most,  as 
he  does,  that  he's  putting  up  a  plan  for  to-night." 

"He's  afraid  to  tackle  you  in  the  day,"  growled  Texas. 

"I  should  say  so,"  chirruped  Indian's  fat,  round  voice. 
"Didn't  you  lick  him  once,  and  the  whole  crowd  besides. 
Bless  my  soul !" 

"I  think,"  continued  Mark,  "that  we  may  take  it  for 
granted  that  Bull  will  try  to  kidnap  me  to-night.  You 
know  they  did  that  once,  took  me  off  into  the  woods  and 
beat  me.  They'll  beat  harder  this  time.  If  a  big  crowd 
of  them  tries  it  you  fellows'll  just  have  to  make  a  noise 
and  wake  everybody  so  that  they'll  have  to  drop  me  and 
run  for  their  tents.  But  if  there's  only  a  few  you  can  fol- 
low and  overpower  them.  It  all  depends." 

Texas  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully  at  this  attractive  pro- 
gramme. 

"What  are  we  a-goin'  to  do  when  we  ketch  'em  ?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"You  leave  that  to  me,"  laughed  Mark,  rising  from  his 
seat  to  end  the  "conference."  "I've  got  a  scheme  fixed 
up  to  frighten  them  to  death.  Just  wait." 

"Just  wait"  seemed  to  represent  about  all  there  was  to 


i68  The  Capture  of  Mark. 

do,  though  the  Seven  did  not  like  it  a  bit.  They  watched 
dress  parade  that  evening  with  far  less  interest  than 
usual,  and  sighed  with  relief  when  the  sunset  gun  finally 
sounded.  It  may  be  interesting  to  note  that  there  were 
some  other  cadets  in  just  exactly  the  same  impatient  state 
of  mind. 

It  was  just  as  Mark  had  suspected — Bull  Harris  had  a 
plot. 

The  sunset  gun  was  welcomed  with  relief.  They  spent 
the  evening  strolling  about  the  grounds  and  discussing 
the  effort  they  were  going  to  make  that  night,  also  occa- 
sionally chuckling  over  the  "success"  of  their  attacks  dur- 
ing the  morning.  And  then  tattoo  sounded,  and  they 
knew  that  the  time  was  nearer  still. 

Bull  Harris  and  his  three  cronies  waited  until  the  sen- 
try had  called  the  hour  of  eleven.  They  thought  the 
plebes  had  had  time  enough  to  get  to  sleep  then,  so  they 
got  up  and  dressed  and  sallied  forth  in  the  darkness.  It 
was  cloudy  that  night,  and  black,  a  circumstance  which 
Bull  considered  particularly  fortunate. 

There  was  no  hesitation,  no  delay  to  discuss  what  should 
fee  done.  The  four  made  straight  for  a  certain  A  com- 
pany tent;  cadets  sleep  with  their  tent  walls  rolled  up  in 


The  Capture  of  Mark.  169 

hot  weather,  and  so  the  yearlings  could  easily  see  what 
was  inside.  They  made  out  three  figures  stretched  out 
upon  the  blankets,  all  sound  asleep ;  the  fourth  occupant — 
the  farmer — was  now  diligently  marching  post. 

The  four  crept  up  with  stealthiness  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  Indians.  A  great  deal  depended  on  their 
not  awakening  Mallory.  Bull,  who  was  the  biggest  and 
strongest  of  the  crowd,  stole  into  the  tent  and  placed  him- 
self at  Mallory's  feet;  Merry  Vance  and  Murray  calcu- 
lated each  upon  managing  one  stalwart  arm,  while  to 
•Baby,  as  smallest,  was  intrusted  the  task  of  preventing 
outcry  from  the  victim.,  Having  placed  themselves,  the 
four  precious  rascals  paused  just  one  moment  to  gloat  over 
their  hated  and  unsuspecting  enemy.  And  then  Bull  gave 
the  signal,  and  as  one  man  they  pounced  down. 

Mallory,  awakened  out  of  a  sound  sleep,  found  himself 
as  helpless  as  if  he  had  been  buried  alive.  Bull's  sinewy 
arms  were  wrapped  about  his  limbs;  his  hands  were 
crushed  to  the  earth ;  and  Baby  was  smothering  him  in  a 
huge  towel.  They  lifted  him  an  instant  later  and  bore 
him  swiftly  from  the  tent. 

A  whistle  v/as  the  signal  to  the  sentry,  who  faced  about 
and  let  them  cross  his  beat;  the  four  clambered  up  the  , 


170  The  Capture  of  Mark. 

embankment  and  sprang  down  into  Fort  Qinton,  chuc- 
kling to  themselves  for  joy,  having  secured  the  hated  plebe 
with  perfect  success  and  secrecy.  And  now  he  was  theirs, 
theirs  to  do  with  as  they  saw  fit.  And  how  they  did  mean 
to  "soak"  him! 

All  this,  of  course,  was  Bull's  view  of  the  matter.  But 
there  were  some  things,  just  a  few,  that  that  cunning 
young  gentleman  did  not  know  of.  The  reader  will  re- 
member that  the  yearlings  had  tried  that  trick  on  Mark 
just  once  before;  ever  since  then  Mark's  tent  was  pro- 
tected by  a  very  simple  but  effective  burglar  alarm.  There 
was  a  thread  tied  about  his  foot.  That  thread  the  year- 
lings had  not  noticed.  It  broke  when  they  carried  off  their 
victim,  but  it  broke  because  it  had  tightened  about  the 
wrist  of  Texas,  who  sat  up  in  alarm  an  instant  later,  just 
in  time  to  observe  the  four  disappearing  in  the  darkness. 
By  the  time  they  had  crossed  the  sentry  beat  the  rest  of 
the  Banded  Seven  were  up  and  dressing  gleefully. 

After  that  the  result  was  never  in  doubt  for  a  moment. 
The  five  all  crossed  the  sentry's  post  without  trouble,  be- 
cause they  had  heard  the  signal  the  yearlings  gave:  And 
a  moment  later  the  triumphant  kidnapers,  who  were  off  in 
a  lonely  corner  of  the  deserted  fort  binding  up  their 


The  Capture  of  Mark.  171 

prisoner  as  if  he  were  a  mummy,  were  horrified  to  find 
themselves  confronted  by  five  stalwart  plebes. 

Bull  and  his  gang  were  helpless.  They  did  not  dare 
make  any  outcry,  in  the  first  place,  because  they  were  more 
to  blame  than  the  plebes  in  case  of  discovery,  and  in  the  , 
second,  because  they  were  "scared  to  death"  of  that  wild 
cowboy,  who  had  already  made  his  name  dreaded  by  rid- 
ing out  and  holding  up  the  whole  artillery  squadron. 
But,  oh,  how  they  did  fairly  grit  their  teeth  in  rage ! 

The  imperturbable  Texas  stood  and  faced  them,  twirl- 
ing two  revolvers  carelessly  while  they  had  the  unspeak- 
able humiliation  of  watching  the  others  ungaging  and  un- 
binding the  delighted  Mallory,  who  rose  to  his  feet  a  mo- 
ment later,  stretched  his  arms  and  then  merrily  took  com- 
mand. 

Bull  Harris  was  selected,  as  leader  and  head  conspira- 
tor, to  undergo  the  first  torture.  Mark  placed  himself  in 
front  of  him,  and  with  a  light  smile  upon  his  face. 

"Lie  down!"  said  he. 

Bull  found  himself  staring  into  the  muzzle  of  one  of 
the  menacing  Texan's  revolvers.  That  took  all  of  Bull's 
nerve,  and  he  very  promptly  "lay." 

"Now  then,  Dewey,"  said  Mark,  "tie  him  up." 


172  The  Capture  of  Mark. 

Dewey  used  the  very  ropes  that  had  been  meant  for 
Mark.  He  tied  Master  Harris'  unresisting  feet  together. 
Then  rolled  him  unceremoniously  over  on  his  back  and 
tied  his  hands.  After  which  Bull  was  kicked  to  one  side, 
and  Dewey  was  ready  for  the  next  frightened  yet  furious 
Tictim. 

Pretty  soon  there  were  four  helpless  bodies  lying  side 
by  side  within  the  fort.  They  were  bound  hand  and  foot ; 
there  were  gags  tied  in  their  mouths  and  heavy  towels 
wrapped  about  their  eyes.  And  then  the  Banded  Seven 
were  ready. 

"Come  ahead,"  said  Mark. 

He  set  the  example  by  tossing  Bull's  body  upon  his 
shoulders  and  setting  out.  The  rest  followed  close  be- 
hind him. 

It  was  quite  a  job  carrying  the  four  bodies  where  our 
friends  wanted  to  take  them,  especially  without  being 
seen  by  any  one. 

They  made  for  the  Hudson.  In  Mark's  day  cadets 
were  allowed  to  hire  rowboats,  that  is,  all  except  plebes. 
But  it  was  easy  enough  for  a  plebe  to  get  one,  as  indeed 
to  get  anything  else,  tobacco  or  eatables.  The  small  drum 
orderly  is  always  bribable,  and  triat  accounts  for  the  fact 


The  Capture  of  Mark.  173 

that  two  big  rowboats  lay  tied  in  a  quiet  place,  ready  for 
the  expedition. 

Since  the  den  was  near  the  shore  oars  furnished  an 
easier  way  to  carry  the  prisoners  to  the  place. 

They  found  the  boats  without  trouble,  and  deposited 
the  yearlings  in  the  bottom.  They  weren't  very  gentle 
about  it,  either.  Then  the  rest  scrambled  in,  and  a  long 
row  began,  during  which  those  who  were  not  working  at 
the  oars  made  it  pleasant  for  the  unfortunate  yearlings  by 
muttering  sundry  prophecies  about  tortures  to  come,  and 
in  general  the  disadvantages  of  being  wicked.  The  Par- 
son recited  some  dozen  texts  from  Scripture  to  prove  that 
obvious  fact. 

We  shall  not  here  stop  -to  picture  the  infuriated  Bull 
Harris'  state  of  mind  under  this  mild  torture.  Enough  of 
that  later.  Suffice  it  to  say  the  row  came  to  an  end  an 
hour  or  so  later,  and  the  party  stepped  ashore.  And  also 
that  before  they  started  into  the  woods  a  brilliant  idea  oc- 
curred to  the  ingeniously  cruel  Texas.  They  meant  to 
make  those  cadets  shiver  and  shake ;  what  was  the  matter 
with  letting  them  start  now,  where  there  was  plenty  of 
nice  cold  water  handy? 

A  whispered  consultation  was  held  by  the  six;  it  was 


174  The  Capture  of  Mark. 

agreed  that  in  view  of  all  the  brutality  of  Bull  and  his 
gang,  there  was  no  call  to  temper  justice  with  mercy.  As 
a  result  of  that  decision  each  one  of  the  yearlings  was  held 
tight  by  the  heels,  and,  spluttering  and  gasping,  dipped 
well  under  water  and  then  hauled  up  again.  That  did  not 
cool  their  anger,  but  it  made  them  shiver,  you  may  well 
believe.  During  this  baptismal  ceremony  the  classic  Par- 
son was  interesting,  as  usual.  He  sat  on  a  rock  nearby 
and  told  the  story,  embellished  with  many  allusions,  how 
the  "silver- footed  Thetis,  daughter  of  the  old  man  of  the 
sea,"  as  Homer  calls  her,  took  her  son,  "the  swift-footed" 
Achilles,  and  dipped  him  into  a  magic  fountain  to  give 
him  immortality.  All  got  wet  but  the  heel  she  held  him 
by,  and  so  it  was  a  blow  in  the  heel  that  killed  the  Grecian 
hero. 

"Therefore,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Parson,  "since  you 
don't  want  Bull  Harris  to  die  from  the  treatment  he  gets 
to-night,  I  suggest  with  all  sincerity  that  you  stick  him 
in  again  and  wet  his  feet." 

While  this  was  being  done,  the  learned  Boston  scholar 
switched  off  onto  the  subject  of  Baptists  and  their  views 
on  total  immersion;  which  promptly  reminded  Dewey  of 
a  story  of  a  "darky"  camp  meeting. 


The  Capture  of  Mark.  175 

"Brudder  Jones  was  very  fat,"  said  he,  "and  b'gee, 
when. he  got  religion  and  wanted  to  be  baptized  there  was 
only  a  little  brook  to  put  him  in.  They  found  the  deepest 
place  they  could,  but  b'gee,  Brudder  Jones  stomach  was 
still  out  of  water.  Now  the  deacon  said  his  'wussest'  sin 
was  gluttony,  and  that  if  he  didn't  get  all  the  way  under 
water  the  devil  would  still  have  his  stomach  and  Brudder 
Jones  would  be  a  glutton  all  his  life,  b'gee.  So  all  the 
brothers  and  sisters  had  to  wade  out  into  the  water  and 
sit  on  Brudder  Jones'  stomach  so  that  all  his  sins  would 
get  washed  away." 

Those  who  were  doing  the  immersing  in  this  case  were 
so  much  overcome  by  Dewey's  way  of  telling  that  story 
that  they  almost  let  Baby  Edwards,  the  last  victim,  slip 
out  of  their  hands.  But  they  pulled  him  in  safely  in  the 
end,  and  after  that  the  merry  party  set  out  for  the 
"Banded  Seven  den." 

They  knew  the  contour  of  the  mountains  so  well  by  this 
time  that  even  in  the  darkness  they  had  no  difficulty  in 
finding  the  place.  They  had  relapsed  into  a  grave  and 
solemn  silence  by  that  time,  so  as  to  get  the  shivering  vic- 
tims into  proper  mood  for  what  .was  next  to  come.  Some 
of  the  crowd  climbed  in,  and  then,  like  so  many  logs  of 


176  The  Capture  of  Mark. 

wood,  the  yearlings  were  poked  through  the  opening  in 
the  rocks  and  laid  on  the  floor  inside.  The  rest  of  the 
plebes  followed.  The  time  for  Mark's  revenge  had  come 
at  last. 

Mark  lit  one  of  the  lamps  which  hung  from  the  ceiling 
of  the  cave  and  then  went  forward  to  make  sure  that 
everything  was  ready  for  the  proposed  hazing.  The  little 
room  in  which  the  bones  of  the  trapped  counterfeiters  lay 
was  up  at  the  far  end  of  the  place.  There  was  a  heavy 
wall  of  masonry  to  shut  it  off,  with  only  one  entrance,  that 
afforded  by  the  heavy  iron  door,  which  was  built  like  that 
of  a  safe.  Mark  entered  the  room  and  after  fumbling 
about  some  came  out  and  nodded  to  his  companions. 
He  did  not  say  a  word ;  none  of  them  had  since  they  had 
come  in;  but  there  was  still  that  firm,  set  look  about  his 
mouth  that  boded  ill  for  those  four  cowardly  yearlings. 

It  is  difficult  for  one  to  imagine  the  state  of  mind  of 
these  latter.  Their  rage  and  vexation  at  the  failure  of 
their  scheme,  at  the  way  they  had  been  trapped,  had  long 
since  given  place  to  one  of  constantly  increasing  dread 
as  they  felt  themselves  carried  further  and  further  away, 
evidently  to  the  lonely  mountain  cave  from  which  Bull 
had  stolen  the  treasure  a  couple  of  days  ago.  They  were 


The  Capture  of  Mark.  177 

*n  the  hands  of  their  deadliest  enemies ;  Bull  knew  that 
they  had  earned  no  mercy  from  Mark,  and  he  knew  also 
that  the  wild  Texan  was  along,  the  Texan  to  whom,  as 
>they  thought,  murder  was  an  everyday  affair.  That 
dousing,  too,  had  done  its  work,  for  it  had  chilled  them  to 
the  bone,  and  made  them  shiver  in  mind  as  well  as  in 
body.  The  yearlings  felt  themselves  carried  a  short  way 
on;  they  felt  some  one  test  the  ropes  that  bound  them, 
tighten  every  knot,  and  then  finally  bind  them  to  what 
seemed  to  be  a  series  of  rings  in  a  rough  stone  wall.  They 
heard  a  low  voice  whisper: 

"They're  safe  there.    They  can't  get  near  each  other." 
And  then  one  by  one  the  bandages  were  taken  from 

their  eyes  and  the  gags  out  of  their  tortured  mouths. 

% 

They  saw  nothing  but  the  blackest  of  darkness.    Abso- 
lutely the  place  was  so  utterly  without  i.  trace  of  light  that 

the  figure  which  stood  in  front  to  untie  the  gag  was  as 

* 
invisible  as  if  it  were  a  spirit.     Bull  heard  a  step  across 

the  floor.    But  even  that  ceased  a  few  moments  later,  and 
the  place  grew  silent  as  the  grave. 

The  yearlings,  though  their  tongues  were  free,  did  not 
dare  to  whisper  a  word.    They  were  too  much  awed  in 


178  The  Capture  of  Mark. 

the  darkness.  They  knew  that  something  was  coming, 
and  they  waited  in  suspense  and  dread. 

It  came.  Suddenly  the  air  was  split  by  a  sound  that 
was  perfectly  deafening  in  the  stillness.  It  was  the  clang 
of  a  heavy  iron  door,  close  at  hand.  The  yearlings 
started  in  alarm,  and  then  stood  waiting  and  trembling. 
They  knew  then  where  they  were,  and  what  door  that 
was.  There  was  an  instant's  silence  and  then  a  horrified 
shout. 

"Great  Heavens !    The  door  has  slammed !" 

The  cadets  recognized  that  voice;  it  was  the  mighty 
one  of  Texas,  but  it  sounded  faint  and  dull,  as  if  it  had 
passed  through  a  heavy  wall.  It  was  succeeded  by  a  per- 
fect babel  of  voices,  all  of  which  sounded  likewise.  And 
the  meaning  of  the  voices,  when  once  the  cadets  realized 
it,  chilled  the  very  marrow  of  their  bones. 

"Open  it !    Open  it,  quick !" 

"Can't !    Oh,  horrors,  it  locks  on  the  inside !" 

"Merciful  heavens!   They  are  prisoners!" 

"They'll  suffocate!" 

"Quick,  quick,  man,  get  a  crowbar !  Anything !  Here, 
give  me  that!" 


The  Capture  of  Mark.  179 

And  then  came  a  series  of  poundings  upon  the  same 
iron  door,  accompanied  by  shouts  and  exclamations  of 
horror  and  despair. 

"I  can't  budge  it.  It's  a  regular  safe.  They  are  locked 
in  for  good  1" 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

lORTURE  OF  THE  YEARLINGS. 

Imagine,  if  you  can,  the  state  of  mind  of  the  agonized 
four  when  the  import  of  those  terrible  words  burst  upon 
them.  They  were  locked  in !  And  tied,  each  one  of  them, 
so  that  they  could  not  move  a  hand  to  help  themselves! 
The  darkness  made  the  whole  thing  yet  more  awful.  They 
were  entombed  alive !  And  suffocating !  Already  the  air 
seemed  to  grow  hot,  their  breath  to  come  in  choking 
gasps.  They  screamed  aloud,  fairly  shrieked  in  agony. 
They  tore  at  their  bonds,  beat  upon  the  wall  with  their 
helpless  hands  and  feet.  And  all  the  while  outside  their 
cries  were  answered  by  the  equally  terrified  shouts  of  the 
plebes. 

"Let  us  out !    Let  us  out !"  shrieked  Bull. 

"Can't  you  get  loose?"  they  heard  a  voice  reply;  they 
recognized  it  as  Mallory's.  "Oh,  man,  you  must  get 
loose !  Try !  Try !  We  can't  help  you  !  There's  a  knob 
inside  there !  Turn  it,  turn  it,  and  the  door '11  open." 

"How  can  I  turn  it?"  screamed  Bull.    "I  can't  get  near 


Tortttre  of  the  Yearlings.  181 

it !  I'm  tied !  I — oh,  merciful  Heaven  help  me !  We're 
suffocating." 

The  cries  from  the  yearlings  increased  in  terror ;  outside 
they  heard  the  blows  of  a  pickax  beating  against  the  wall. 
Their  hearts  bounded  in  hope;  they  gasped  in  suspense; 
but  then  suddenly  the  sound  ceased. 

"I  can't  do  a  thing !"  It  was  Texas  who  spoke.  "The 
walls  are  too  hard.  We  can't  help  them,  they're  gone." 

"And  we!"  cried  Mark.    "Fellows,  we're  murderers!" 

"Who  knows  of  this  yere  place?"  demanded  Texas. 
"Nobody'll  ever  find  'em.  Fellers,  let's  go  back  to  camp 
and  swear  we  never  saw  'em." 

"Oh,  don't  leave  us!  Don't  leave  us!"  wailed  Bull. 
"Oh!  oh!" 

The  others  joined  in  with  their  horrified  shrieks,  but 
they  might  as  well  have  cried  to  the  stones.  They  heard 
rapidly  receding  footsteps,  and  even  a  heartless,  triumph- 
ant laugh.  And  a  moment  later  there  was  nothing  left 
but  stone  for  the  agonized  yearlings  to  cry  to. 

The  six  conspirators  outside,  having  retreated  to  a  far 
corner  of  the  cave,  to  talk  over  the  success  of  their  ruse, 
were  considering  that  last  mentioned  point  then.  Indian, 
ever  tender-hearted  and  nervous,  wanted  to  let  them  ou* 


1 82  Torture  of  the  Yearlings. 

now,  he  was  sure  they'd  dropped  dead  of  fright ;  all  their 
vociferous  yells  from  the  distance  could  not  persuade  him 
otherwise. 

"Bless  my  soul !"  he  whispered,  in  an  awe-stricken 
voice.  "They'll  suffocate." 

"Not  for  an  hour  in  that  spacious  compartment,"  said 
the  scientific  Parson. 

"Anyhow,  I  say  we  let  'em  out,"  pleaded  Indian. 

"An'  I  say  we  don't !"  growled  Texas.  "That  air  feller 
Bull  Harris  jes'  deserves  to  be  left  thar  fo'  good !  An'  I 
wouldn't  mind  doin'  it,  either." 

Texas  was  usually  a  very  mild  and  kind-hearted  youth, 
but  he  was  wont  to  get  wroth  over  the  very  name  of 
Harris. 

"That  ole  yearlin's  been  the  cause  o'  all  our  trouble  an* 
hazin'  since  we  come  hyar!"  he  cried.  "Ever  since  the 
day  Mark  caught  him  trying  to  bully  a  young  girl,  an' 
knocked  him  down  fo'  it,  he's  tried  everything  but  mur- 
der. He's  too  much  a  coward  to  fight  fair,  but  he's  laid 
fo'  us  and  pitched  in  to  lick  us  with  his  gang  every  time  ^ 
he's  seen  us  alone.  He's  sent  Dewey  and  you,  Mark,  to 
the  hospital!  He  got  the  yearlin's  to  take  Mark  out  in 
the  woods  an'  beat  him. 


Torture  of  the  Yearlings.  183 

"An'  he  got  up  that  air  dirty  scheme  to  skin  Mark  on 
demerits;  he  did  all  the  demeritin',  besides  the  beatin'. 
An'  he  put  up  a  plot  to  git  Mark  out  o'  bounds  and  dis- 
missed. An'  now  I  say  let  him  stay  there  till  he's  too 
durnation  scared  to  walk !" 

This  sentiment  was  the  sentiment  of  the  rest ;  but  Mark 
smiled  when  he  heard  it. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "it's  punishment  enough  to  stay  in 
there  a  minute.  We'll  have  to  let  them  out  pretty  soon." 

"An'  ain't  you  goin'  to  work  the  other  scheme?"  cried 
Texas. 

"We'll  work  that  now,"  responded  Mark,  whispering. 
"See,  there's  the  light,  anyway." 

This  last  remark  was  caused  by  a  glance  he  had  taken 
in  the  direction  of  the  dungeon.  A  faint  glimmer  of  light 
appeared  in  a  crack  at.  the  top  of  the  old,  fast- falling  door. 
And  Mark  arose  and  crept  swiftly  across  the  room. 

We  must  go  inside  now  and  see  what  was  going  on 
there,  for  that  light  was  destined  to  bring  a  new  and 
startling  development  for  the  yearlings;  it  was  what 
Texas  had  called  "the  other  scheme." 

To  picture  the  horror  of  the  abandoned  four  during 
the  few  moments  that  had  elapsed  is  beyond  our  effort. 


184  Torture  of  the  Yearlings. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  they  were  still  shrieking,  still  de- 
spairing and  yet  daring  to  hope.  And  then  came  the  new 
scheme. 

The  silence  and  blackness  had  both  been  unbroken  ex- 
cept by  them;  but  suddenly  came  a  faint,  spluttering, 
crackling  sound.  And  an  instant  later  a  faint,  white  light 
shone  about  the  narrow  cell.  It  came  from  right  in  front 
of  the  horrified  four,  seeming  to  start  in  some  ghostly 
way  of  its  own  to  issue  from  a  shining  ball  of  no  one  could 
say  what.  But  it  was  not  the  light,  it  was  what  it  showed 
that  terrified  the  cadets,  and  made  them  give  vent  to  one 
last  despairing  shriek. 

In  the  first  place,  let  it  be  said  that  the  light  came  from 
an  inverted  basket  hiding  a  candle,  set  off  by  a  time  fuse 
the  ingenious  Parson  had  made.  As  for  the  rest,  well, 
there  were  six  gleaming  skeletons  stretched  about  on  the 
floor  of  that  horrible  place,  the  skulls  grinning  frightfully, 
seeming  to  leer  at  the  helpless  victims. 

The  four  were  incapable  of  the  least  sound;  their 
tongues  were  paralyzed,  and  their  bodies  too.  Their  eyes 
fairly  started  from  their  heads  as  they  stared.  They  were 
beyond  the  possibility  of  further  fright,  and  what  came 
next  seemed  natural. 


Torture  of  the  Yearlings.  185 

Those  skeletons  began  to  move ! 

First  one  round,  white  head,  with  its  shining  black 
holes  of  eyes  and  rows  of  glistening  teeth,  began  to  roll 
slowly  across  the  floor.  Then  it  sailed  up  into  the  air; 
then  it  dropped  slowly  down  again,  and  finally  settled -in 
one  corner  and  grinned  out  at  the  gasping  cadets. 

"Wasn't  that  smart  of  me?"  it  seemed  to  say.  "Til  do 
it  again.  Watch  me  now.  Watch !" 

And  it  sailed  up  into  the  air  once  more,  and  swung 
about  in  the  blackness  and  went  over  toward  the  prisoners 
and  then  started  back.  Finally  it  tumbled  down  to  the 
ground,  hitting  its  own  original  bones  with  a  hollow  crack. 
And  then  it  was  still. 

That  head  was  not  the  only  moving  thing  in  the  cell. 
One  skeleton  raised  its  long,  trembling  arm  and  pointed 
at  them;  another's  legs  rattled  across  the  floor.  And  a 
fourth  one  seemed  to  spring  up  all  at  once,  as  though  it 
had  dozens  of  loose  bones,  and  hurl  itself  with  a  clatter 
into  one  corner.  It  lay  there  a  scattered  heap,  with  only 
one  lone  white  rib  to  mark  the  place  where  it  had  been. 

That  was  the  way  it  seemed  to  the  yearlings ;  of  course, 
they  did  not  see  the  black  threads  that  ran  through  cracks 


186  Torture  of  the  Yearlings. 

in  the  door,  where  the  six  could  stand  and  jerk  them  at 
their  pleasure. 

It  was  all  over  a  moment  later.  The  four  heard  a  knob 
turn,  and  then,  to  their  amazement,  saw  the  iron  door, 
which  they  had  thought  would  never  open  on  them  alive, 
swing  back  and  let  in  a  flood  of  glorious  light.  And  an 
instant  later  the  familiar  and  even  welcome  figure  of  Mai 
lory  came  in. 

He  stepped  up  to  each  and  quickly  cut  the  ropes  that 
bound  them.  And  when  all  four  were  free  he  stepped  back 
and  gazed  at  them.  As  for  them,  they  never  moved  a 
muscle,  but  stared  at  him  in  consternation  and  confusion. 

"Come  out,  gentlemen,"  said  Mark.  "Come  out  and 
make  yourselves  at  home." 

That  voice  was  real,  anyway,  thank  Heaven  for  that! 
The  four  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  recovering  their  wits 
enough  to  realize  the  state  of  affairs.  They  followed  Mark 
mechanically,  though  they  were  scarcely  able  to  stand. 
They  found  themselves  in  the  well-lit  and  furnished  apart- 
ment, the  rest  of  their  enemies  bowing  cordially.  Then 
indeed  they  began  to  realize  the  hoax,  its  success,  the  way 
they  had  been  fooled!  And  they  staggered  back  against 
the  wall. 


Torture  of  the  Yearlings.  187 

The  silence  lasted  a  minute  at  least,  and  then  Mark 
stepped  forward. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  hope  you  understand  why  we 
did  this.  It  may  seem  cruel,  but  we  could  think  of  no 
other  way  of  bringing  you  to  your  senses.  We  could 
have  done  much  more  if  we  had  wanted  to;  but,  we  trust 
this  will  be  a  lesson  that " 

"Confound  you !"  snarled  Bull. 

"Steady,"  said  Mark,  smiling,  "or  in  there  you  go 
again." 

That  suggestion  alone  made  Bull  shiver,  and  he  ven- 

» 

tured  not  another  sound. 

"And  now,"  said  Mark,  "if  you  will  let  us,  we  will  con- 
duct you  back  to  camp.  And  all  I  want  to  say  besides  is, 
the  next  time  you  want  to  haze,  try  fair,  open  tactics.  If 
you  try  any  more  sneaking  plots  I  shall  not  show  the 
mercy  I  did  this  time.  Come  on." 

Some  ten  minutes  later  the  four  were  poked  through  the 
crevice  in  the  rocks  again,  and  led  blind-folded  to  the 
boats  and  to  camp.  Which  was  the  end  of  that  adventure. 
But  Bull  Harris  vowed  he'd  get  square,  and  that  very 
soon. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

A     NEW     VENTURE. 

Bull  Harris  was  resolved  to  "get  square  or  die." 

To  "get  square"  was  in  his  mind  constantly,  until  he 
hit  on  another  scheme  of  hazing. 

It  was  several  nights  later  that  he  and  his  cronies  crept 
to  the  tent  wherein  lay  Mark  and  three  of  the  others. 

"Don't  let  him  move,  now,"  whispered  Bull  Harris. 
"Hold  him  tight,  for  he'll  fight  like  fury." 

"And  take  that  wild  hyena  they  call  Texas  along,  too," 
added  another.  "It  was  he  who  broke  up  all  our  fun  the 
other  night." 

"He  won't  get  a  chance  to  use  his  guns  this  time," 
snarled  the  first  speaker.  "And  we've  got  enough  of  a 
crowd  to  handle  any  of  the  others  if  they  wake  up. 
Ready,  now !" 

This  conversation  was  held  in  a  low  tone  off  to  one  side. 
Then,  having  agreed  just  what  each  was  to  do,  the  crowd 
scattered  and  stole  silently  up  to  the  tent. 

It  was  important  that  the  yearlings  should  not  awaken 
the  others;  they  placed  themselves  stealthily  about  the 


A  New  Venture.  189 

two  victims,  waited  an  instant,  and  then  at  the  signal 
stooped  and  pinned  them  to  the  earth.  The  yearlings  were 
quite  expert  at  that  now,  and  the  two  never  even  got  a 
chance  to  gasp.  They  were  lifted  up  and  run  quickly 
away,  held  so  tight  that  they  couldn't  even  kick.  It  was 
easy  when  there  were  three  or  four  to  one  plebe. 

The  plan  worked  perfectly,  and  it  seemed  as  if  no  one 
had  discovered  it.  Neither  of  the  other  two  sleepers  had 
moved.  Over  in  the  next  tent,  however,  some  one  was 
awakened  by  the  noise,  a  plebe  of  Company  B,  another 
member  of  the  immortal  Seven.  He  sprang  to  his  tent 
door,  and  an  instant  later  found  himself  powerless  in  the 
grip  of  two  yearlings  who  had  stayed  behind  to  watch  out 
for  just  that  accident.  Evidently  this  attack  was  better 
planned  than  the  last  one. 

Master  Chauncey  Van  Rensselaer  Mount  Bonsall,  of 
Fifth  Avenue,  New  York,  was  the  unfortunate  third  pris- 
oner. He  felt  himself  rushed  over  the  beat  of  the  pur- 
posely negligent  sentry  and  hurried  into  the  confines  of  the 
solitary  old  Fort  Clinton,  where  he  was  bound  and 
gagged  with  celerity  and  precision  and  unceremoniously 
tumbled  to  the  ground  by  the  side  of  Mark  and  Texas. 

Everything  was  ready  for  the  hazing  then. 


190  A  New  Venture. 

The  eight  who  had  participated  in  that  kidnaping, 
speedily  resolved  themselves  into  two  groups  of  four  each. 
The  members  of  one  group  we  do  not  know,  but  the  other 
four  were  our  old  friends,  Bull  Harris,  Gus  Murray, 
Merry  Vance  and  Baby  Edwards.  They  had  stepped  to 
one  side  to  talk  over  the  fate  of  their  unfortunate  pris- 
oners. 

"By  Heaven !"  cried  Bull,  clinching  his  fists  in  anger. 
"Fellows,  we've  got  him  at  last !  Do  you  realize  it,  he's 
ours  to  do  with  as  we  please.  And  if  I  don't  make  him 
sorry  he  ever  lived  this  night,  I  hope  I  may  die  on  the 
spot." 

Bull  was  striding  up  and  down  in  excitement  as  he  mut- 
tered this.  And  there  was  no  less  hatred  and  malice  in  the 
eyes  of  his  three  whispering  companions. 

"I  could  kill  him!"  cried  Gus;  and  he  said  it  as  if  he 
meant  it. 

"He's  been  the  torment  of  my  life,"  snarled  Bull.  "I 
hate  him  as  I  never  hated  any  one,  and  every  time  I  try  to 
get  square  on  him,  somehow  everything  goes  wrong.  Just 
think  of  being  penned  up  in  a  black  cave  with  a  lot  of 
skeletons.  Confound  him!  But  he  won't  get  away  this 
time  as  he  did  before." 


A  New  Venture.  191 

This  interesting  and  charitable  dialogue  was  cut  short 
just  then  by  one  of  the  other  four. 

"What  are  you  fellows  going  to  do?"  he  cried. 

"We'll  be  there  in  a  moment !"  whispered  Bull.  "Don't 
talk  so  loud.  Say,  fellows  (this  to  his  own  crowd)  I  say 
we  take  Mallory  off  by  ourselves.  Those  other  fellows 
won't  stand  half  we  want  to  do  to  him." 

"That's  so,"  assented  the  dyspeptic  Vance.  "What  in 
thunder  did  we  let  them  come  for  ?" 

"We  couldn't  have  handled  Mallory  and  Texas  alone," 
replied  Bull,  sourly.  "And  we  had  to  take  Texas,  else 
he'd  have  waked  up  and  followed  us  sure.  But  I  guess 
it'll  be  all  right.  Come  ahead." 

The  four  walked  over  and  joined  the  rest  of  the  year- 
lings then. 

"We've  decided  what  we'll  do,"  said  Bull.  "We  won't 
need  you  fellows  any  more.  We're  very  much  obliged  to 
you  for  helping  us." 

"Pshaw !"  growled  one  of  them.    "I  want  to  stay  and  * 
see  the  fun." 

"But  there's  more  danger  with  so  many  away,"  said 
Bull,  persuasively. 


192  A  New  Venture. 

'Til  stand  my  share,"  laughed  the  other.  "I  want  to 
stay.  I've  a  grudge  against  that  plebe  Mallory  myself." 

Bull  bit  his  lip  in  vexation. 

'The  fact  is,  fellows,"  he  said,  "we  want  to  take  these 
plebes  to  a  place  we  don't  know  anything  about." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  us  that  before  you  asked  us?" 
growled  the  four.  "I'm  going  to  stay,  I  don't  care  what 
you  say." 

The  fact  of  the  matter  was  that  the  four  yearlings  were 
just  a  little  chary  about  leaving  their  prisoner  in  Bull's 
hands,  though  they  did  not  care  to  say  so.  They  knew 
Bull  Harris'  character.  His  hatred  of  Mallory  was  well 
known.  Who  had  not  seen  Bull,  one  night  when  the 
yearling  class  took  Mallory  and  started  to  beat  him  into 
submission,  seize  a  lash  and  leap  at  the  helpless  victim 
in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  hatred.  And  who  had  not  heard 
him  all  that  day  wrathfully  telling  the  story  of  how  Mal- 
lory and  his  gang,  in  an  effort  to  cure  him  of  his  mean- 
ness, had  frightened  him  almost  to  tears  ?  Truly,  thought 
the  four,  Bull's  hazing  was  a  thing  to  be  supervised. 

So  they  stayed,  and  finally  Bull  had  to  accept  the  sit- 
uation. 

"Come  on,"  he  growled,  surlily. 


A  New  Venture.  193 

The  crowd  lifted  their  helpless  victims  from  the  ground 
and  set  out  to  follow  Bull's  guidance.  They  had  no  idea 
where  they  were  going,  and  in  fact  Bull  had  none  himself. 
He  could  think  of  no  form  of  torture  that  was  quite 
cruel  enough  for  that  hated  Mallory,  and  he  did  not  have 
the  brains  to  think  of  one  that  was  as  ingenious  and 
harmless  as  Mallory  had  worked  on  him. 

"I'd  tie  him  up  and  beat  the  hide  off  him,"  thought 
Bull,  "if  I  could  only  get  rid  of  those  confounded  fellows 
that  are  with  us.  As  it  is,  I'll  have  to  find  something 
else,  plague  take  it." 

The  crowd  had  been  scrambling  down  the  steep  bank 
toward  the  river  in  the  meanwhile.  Bull  thought  it  would 
be  well  to  douse  Mallory  in  the  water,  which  was  one  of 
the  tricks  Mallory  had  tried  on  him.  After  that  he  said 
to  himself  it'll  be  time  enough  to  think  of  something 
more.  They  skirted  the  parade  ground  and  made  their 
way  down  past  the  riding  hall  and  across  the  railroad 
track  near  the  tunnel. 

"I'd  like  to  drop  him  on  the  track,"  thought  Bull  to 
himself,  as  he  heard  the  roar  of  a  train  approaching. 
"By  Heaven,  that  would  settle  him !" 

The  crowd  had  barely  crossed  before  the  engine  ap- 


194  A  New  Venture. 

peared  at  the  tunnel's  mouth,  after  it  a  long  freight  train 
slowly  rumbling  past  them.  And  at  that  instant  Gus 
Murray  seized  Bull  convulsively  by  the  arm. 

"I've  got  a  scheme!"  he  cried.  "Do  you  hear  me,  a 
scheme?" 

"What  is  it  ?"  shouted  Bull,  above  the  noise  of  the  train. 

"It's  a  beauty,"  gasped  Murray.  "By  George,  we'll 
get  'em  fired.  They'll  go  nobody  knows  where,  and  be 
missed  in  the  morning.  And  we  can  swear  we  didn't  do 
it.  Hooray !  We'll  put  'em  on  the  train !" 

Bull  staggered  back  and  cried  out  with  excitement. 

"That's  it!"  he  muttered,  and  an  instant  later,  before 
the  horrified  four  could  comprehend  his  purpose  he  and 
Edwards  had  torn  the  helpless  body  of  Mallory  from 
their  arms  and  made  a  rush  at  a  passing  car.  It  was  an 
empty  car,  and  the  door  was  half  open ;  to  fling  the  plebe 
in  was  the  work  of  but  an  instant ;  then  with  Murray  and 
Vance  he  quickly  slid  the  other  two  in  also.  Half  a  min- 
ute later  the  train  was  gone. 

The  four  outsiders  turned  and  stared  at  Bull's  gang  in 
horror. 

"What  on  earth  have  you  done?"  they  gasped. 


A  New  Venture.  195 

And  Bull  chuckled  to  himself. 

"I've  sent  those  infernal  plebes  to  New  York,"  he  said. 
"By  Jingo,  I'd  like  to  send  them  to  Hades.  If  they  aren't 
fired  as  it  is  it'll  be  because  you  kids  give  us  away.  And 
now  let's  go  back  to  bed." 


\ 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

1  MARK   COMES  TO  TOWN. 

Mr.  Timothy  O'Flaherty  was  a  tramp.  That  was  the 
plain  unvarnished  statement  of  the  case.  Mr.  O'Flaherty 
would  have  called  himself  a  knight  of  the  road,  and  a 
comic  editor  would  have  called  him  Tired  Tim;  but  to 
everybody  else  he  was  a  plain  tramp. 

Mr.  O'Flaherty  was  very,  very  tired,  having  walked 
nearly  twenty  miles  that  day  without  getting  even  so 
much  as  a  square  meal.  One  whole  pie  was  the  sum  total 
of  his  daily  bread  and  that  was  so  bad  that  he  had  fed  it 
to  the  bulldog  for  revenge  and  walked  on.  He  was  walk- 
ing still,  at  present  on  the  tracks  of  the  West  Shore  Rail- 
road some  thirty  miles  north  of  New  York. 

From  what  has  been  said  of  Mr.  O'Flaherty  you  may 
suppose  that  his  heart  leaped  with  joy  when  along  came 
a  rumbling  night  freight.  He  watched  it  crawl  past  with 
a  professional  and  critical  eye;  there  was  a  platform  he 
might  ride  on,  but  he  was  liable  to  be  seen  there.  If  only 
he  could  find  an  open  car.  There  was  one !  He  made  a 
leap  at  the  door,  swung  himself  aboard  with  as  much 


Mark  Comes  to  Town.  197 

grace  as  if  he  had  lived  all  his  life  on  Broadway,  and  then 
crawled  into  the  car. 

Mr.  O'Flaherty  looked  around.  There  was  some  one 
else  in  that  car! 

"Another  tramp,"  thought  the  newcomer,  and  so  to 
awaken  him  he  gave  him  a  friendly  prod  with  his  toe. 

"Hello!"  said  he;  but  there  was  no  answer. 

"Drunk,"  was  the  next  conjecture,  but  then  he  heard 
a  low  sound  that  was  very  much  like  a  groan. 

That  scared  Timothy,  and  he  seized  the  figure  and 
jerked  it  to  the  light  of  the  moon  that  shone  in  through 
the  door.  "Be  the  saints !"  he  muttered  in  alarm,  "it's  a 
sojer,  an'  he's  all  tied  up." 

"Um — um — um !"  groaned  the  figure  in  a  "nasal"  tone. 

It  was  Chauncey  whom  the  tramp  had  found ;  Chauncey 
had  slipped  into  his  plebe  trousers  before  he  ran  to  the 
tent  door,  which  accounted  for  the  man's  exclamation,  a 
"sojer."  If  he  had  found  Mark  or  Texas  he  would  have 
exclaimed  still  more,  for  the  latter  two  were  clad  in  their 
underclothing. 

Mr.  O'Flaherty  was  a  man  of  quick  action;  he  saw 
that  he  couldn't  gratify  his  curiosity  about  that  strange 
traveler  unless  he  cut  him  loose ;  so  he  did  it. 


198  Mark  Comes  to  Town. 

Chauncey's  first  act  to  celebrate  his  liberty  was  a  stretch 
and  a  yawn ;  his  second  was  to  seize  the  knife  and  rush  to 
the  back  of  the  car,  with  the  result  that  two  more  persons 
appeared  in  the  moonlight  a  few  minutes  later. 

Of  Mr.  Timothy  O'Flaherty  they  did  not  take  the  least 
bit  of  notice;  they  appeared  to  have  something  else  of 
much  more  importance  to  talk  about  just  then.  And 
Timothy  sat  in  the  shadow  and  stared  at  them  with  open 
mouth. 

"Well,  this  is  a  scrape,"  muttered  one  of  them,  gazing  at 
his  own  scantily  clad  figure  and  at  the  landscape  rush- 
ing by. 

"What  kin  we  do?"  cried  a  second.  "The  old  Nick 
take  them  old  yearlin's !" 

"Bah  Jove !"  cried  the  third.  "This  is  deucedly  embar- 
rassing. I  cawn't  go  out  on  the  street,  don't  cher  know, 
dressed  in  this  outlandish  fashion !" 

"And  we  can't  get  a  train  back,"  cried  the  first. 

"An'  we  got  no  money !"  said  the  second. 

"Bah  Jove !"  added  the  third,  the  one  Timothy  recog- 
nized as  "Trousers"  because  he  was  the  only  one  who  had 
them.  "Reveille'll  sound,  don't  cher  know,  and  we  won't 
be  there." 


Mark  Comes  to  Town.  199 

This  entertaining  conversation  was  kept  up  for  some 
fifteen  minutes  more.  All  Mr.  O' Flaherty  managed  to 
make  out  was  that  they  had  been  sent  away  from  some- 
,  where  and  they  hadn't  the  least  idea  how  to  get  back. 
Presently  one  of  them — Trousers — discovered  that  he  did 
have  some  money,  plenty  of  it,  whereupon  Timothy's 
mouth  began  to  water.  That  cleared  the  situation  in  his 
eyes,  but  it  didn't  seem  to  in  theirs.  They  were  afraid  of 
being  late  and  getting  caught  by  some  wild  animal  called 
reveille ;  moreover,  they  couldn't  take  a  train  because  they 
had  no  clothes.  Here  Timothy  thought  he'd  better  step  in. 

"Hey,  Trousers !"  said  he. 

The  "dude"  thus  designated  didn't  recognize  himself, 
so  Timothy  edged  up  and  poked  him  to  make  him  look. 

"Hey,  Trousers !"  said  he.  "I  kin  git  you  ducks  some 
togs." 

To  make  a  long  story  short  the  "ducks"  "tumbled"  to 
that  proposition  in  a  hurry.  Even  Trousers,  the  aristocrat, 
condescended  to  sit  down  and  discuss  ways  and  means 
with  that  very  sociable  tramp.  To  make  the  story  still 
shorter  Timothy  propounded  a  plan  and  found  it  agree- 
able; "jumped"  the  car  when  it  was  finally  switched  off 
at  Hoboken ;  and  set  out  with  ten  dollars  of  the  stranger's 


2oo  Mark  Comes  to  Town. 

money,  to  buy  second-hand  clothing  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

"You'll  be  sure  to  come  back,"  said  Mark.  "Because 
we'll  make  it  fifteen  if  you  do."  / 

That  settled  whatever  idea  of  "taking  a  sneak"  was  , 
lurking  in  the  messenger's  mind.  He  vowed  to  return, 
"sure  as  me  name  is  Timothy  O'Flaherty,"  which,  as  we 
know,  it  was.  And  he  came  too.  He  flung  a  pile  of  duds 
into  the  car  and  went  off  whistling  with  the  promised 
reward  of  virtue  in  his  pocket.  It  was  a  "bully  graft"  for 
him  anyhow,  and  he  promised  himself  a  regular  roaring 
good  time.  That  is  the  last  we  shall  see  of  Timothy. 

As  to  the  plebes  their  joy  was  equally  as  great.  They 
felt  that  this  hazing  was  the  supreme  effort  of  the  des- 
perate Bull  Harris,  and  it  failed.  Now  that  they  were 
safe  they  could  contemplate  the  delight  of  turning  up  smil- 
ing at  reveille  to  the  consternation  of  "the  enemy."  Truly 
this  involuntary  journey  had  panned  out  to  be  a  very 
pleasant  affair  indeed. 

Mark's  first  thought  was  as  to  a  return  train.    They  * 
rushed  off  to  the  depot  to  find  out,  where  they  discovered 
a  ticket  agent  who  gazed  doubtfully  at  their  soiled  and 
ragged  clothing.    The  three  realized  then  for  the  first  time 


Mark  Comes  to  Town.  301 

that  their  benefactor  had  kept  a  good  deal  of  that  ten 
dollars  for  himself,  and  poor  Chauncey,  to  whom  a  wilted 
collar  was  agony,  fairly  groaned  as  he  gazed  at  himself. 
However,  they  found  that  there  was  a  train  in  ten  min- 
utes; and  another  at  three-thirty — due  at  West  Point  at 
four-thirty-eight.  That  was  the  essential  thing,  and  the 
three  wandered  out  to  the  street  again. 

"We  mustn't  go  far,  don't  cher  know,"  observed  Chaun- 
cey. "We  don't  want  to  miss  that  train." 

Chauncey's  was  not  a  very  daring  or  original  mind. 
There  was  an  idea  floating  through  Mark's  head  just  then 
that  never  occurred  to  Chauncey;  it  would  have  knocked 
him  over  if  it  had. 

"When  we  went  up  there  to  West  Point,"  began  Mark, 
suddenly,  "we  expected  to  stay  there  two  years  without 
ever  once  venturing  off  the  post." 

"Yes,"  said  Chauncey.    "Bah  Jove,  we  did." 

"And  here  we  are  down  at  Hoboken,  opposite  New 
York." 

"Yes,"  assented  Chauncey  again. 

"It  feels  good  to  be  loose,  don't  it  ?"  observed  Mark. 

And  still  Chauncey  didn't  "tumble" ;  Texas'  eyes  were 
beginning  to  dance  however. 


2oa  Mark  C£nes  to  Town. 

"It's  awfully  stupid  back  there  on  the  reservation,  not 
half  as  lively  as  New  York." 

Still  Chauncey  only  $*ui  "Yes." 

"Rather  kind  of  tht:  yearlings  to  give  us  a  holiday, 
wasn't  it?"  observed  Mark. 

Another  "Yes,"  and  then  seeing  that  his  efforts  were 
of  no  use  Mark  came  out  with  his  proposition. 

"Stupid!"  he  laughed.  "Don't  you  see  what  I  mean? 
I'm  not  going  back  on  that  first  train." 

"Not  going  back  on  that  train!"  gasped  Chauncey. 
"Bah  Jove !  then  what " 

His  horrified  inquiries  were  interrupted  by  a  wild  whoop 
from  the  delighted  Texas.  Texas  was  beginning  to 
wriggle  his  fingers,  which  meant  that  Texas  was  ex- 
cited. And  suddenly  he  sprang  forward  and  started  down 
the  street,  seizing  his  expostulating  companion  under  the 
arm  and  dragging  him  ahead  as  if  he  had  been  a  child. 

Some  ten  minutes  later  those  three  members  of  the 
Banded  Seven — B.  B.  J. — were  on  a  Christopher  Street 
ferryboat  bound  for  New  York  and  bent  upon  having  some 
"fun."  When  the  Seven  set  out  for  fun  they  usually  got 
it ;  they  had  all  they  could  carry  in  this  case. 

It  was  with  a  truly  delicious  sense  of  freedom  that 


Mark  Comes  to  Town.  203 

they  strolled  about  the  deck  of  that  lumbering  boat.  Only 
one  who  has  been  to  West  Point  can  appreciate  it.  Day 
after  day  on  that  army  reservation,  with  a  penalty  of 
,  dismissal  for  leaving  it,  grows  woefully  monotonous  even 
to  the  very  busy  plebe.  Zest  was  idded  to  their  venture 
by  the  fact  that  they  knew  thf^  werc  breaking  rules  and 
might  be  found  out  any  moment. 

"Still  if  we  are,"  laughed  Mark,  "we  can  lay  the  blame 
on  Bull.  And  now  for  the  fun." 

They  half  expected  the  fun  would  come  rushing  out 
to  welcome  them  the  moment  they  got  into  the  light  of 
the  street.  They  expected  a  fire  or  a  murder  at  the  very 
least.  And  felt  really  hurt  because  they  met  only  a  sleepy 
hack  driver  talking  to  a  sleepy  policeman.  And  an  empty 
street  car  and  a  few  slouchy-looking  fellows  like  them- 
selves lounging  about  a  saloon.  However  it  was  exciting 
to  be  in  New  York  anyway;  what  more  could  the  three 
B.  J.  plebes  want? 

^  They  strolled  across  Christopher  Street,  gazing  curi- 
ously. Mark  had  never  been  in  New  York  before  and 
Chauncey  was  worried  because  he  couldn't  see  a  better 
part  of  it,  for  instance,  "my  cousin,  Mr.  Morgan's  mansion 
on  Fifth  Avenue,  don't  cher  know."  He  even  offered  to 


204  Mark  Comes  to  Town. 

take  Mark  up  there,  until  he  chanced  to  glance  at  his 
clothing.  Then  he  shivered.  Truly  the  three  were  a 
sight;  Chauncey's  shapely  plebe  trousers  were  hidden  in 
a  huge  green  threadbare  overcoat  (August)  !  Mark  could 
not  help  laughing  whenever  he  gazed  at  the  youthful  ^ 
aristocrat. 

"Never  mind,"  he  laughed.  "Cheer  up,  nobody'll  try  to 
rob  us,  which  is  one  comfort." 

"I  wish  we  would  get  robbed,"  growled  Texas.  "Whar's 
that  aire  fun  we  came  fo'  ?" 

That  began  to  be  a  pressing  question.  They  wandered 
about  for  at  least  half  an  hour  and  the  clocks  showed 
two,  and  still  nothing  had  happened.  The  city  seemed 
to  be  provokingly  orderly  that  night. 

"Durnation!"  exclaimed  Texas.  "I  reckon  we  got  to 
make  some  fun  ourselves." 

When  a  person  is  really  looking  for  excitement,  it  takes 
very  little  to  have  him  imagine  some.    The  three  had  just 
been  discussing  the  possibility  of  robbery  down  in  this 
"tough"  quarter  when  suddenly  Mark  seized  the  other  4 
two  by  the  arm. 

"Look,  look!"  he  cried. 

The  others  turned;  and  straightway  over  the  whole 


Mark  Comes  to  Town.  205 

three  of  them  flashed  the  conviction  that  at  last  their  hour 
had  come.    There  was  a  burglar ! 

The  three  started  in  surprise,  and  a  moment  later  they 
slid  silently  into  the  shadow  of  an  awning  to  watch  with 
palpitating  hearts. 

There  was  only  one  burglar.  That  is,  he  had  no  con- 
federates visible.  But  his  own  actions  were  desperate 
enough  for  two.  In  the  first  place  he  crept  softly  up  the 
steps  of  the  house,  stooping  and  crouching  as  he  did  so. 
He  tried  the  door  softly,  shook  it;  and  then  finding  it 
resisted  his  purpose  he  stole  down  again,  glancing  about 
him  nervously. 

He  went  down  into  the  area,  where  it  was  dark;  the 
three,  trembling  by  this  time,  peered  forward  to  watch 
him.  They  saw  him  try  the  window  and  to  their  horror 
saw  it  go  softly  up.  The  next  moment  the  man  delib- 
erately sat  down  and  removed  his  shoes.  The  plebes 
could  see  them  in  his  hands  as  he  arose  again  and  with 
the  stealthiness  of  a  cat  slid  quickly  in. 

The  three  hesitated  not  a  moment,  but  rose  up  and  crept 
silently  and  swiftly  across  the  street.  Mark  stole  down 
into  the  area,  his  heart  beating  high.  He  peered  in  and 
a  moment  later  beckoned  the  others.  They  came;  they 


206  Mark  Comes  to  Town. 

saw  the  burglar  in  the  act  of  striking  a  light  and  creeping 

up  the  basement  stairs.    In  an  instant  more  he  was  gone. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  whispered  the  three.     "What?" 

Mark  answered  by  an  act.    There  was  only  one  thing 

he  could  do ;  he  stooped  and  crept  in  at  the  window.    The 

three  followed  him  immediately  and  their  forms  were 

lost  in  the  darkness  of  that  imperiled  house. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BURGLAR    HUNTING. 

It  was  an  uncanny  business  wandering  about  a  dark 
house  at  night ;  it  is  especially  so  if  it  be  a  strange  house 
and  if  one  knows  for  certain  that  there  is  a  desperate 
burglar  creeping  about  somewhere  in  it.  Many  a  man 
has  shrunk  from  that  task;  but  the  three  had  been  be- 
moaning a  lack  of  excitement,  and  now  here  it  was.  So 
they  had  no  right  to  complain. 

Mark  waited  a  moment  for  the  others  to  join  him  and 

then  side  by  side  they  stood  and  peered  into  the  darkness. 

/ 

From  what  they  had  seen  of  the  room  when  the  man 
struck  a  light  it  was  a  dining-room  with  a  flight  of  stairs 
running  up  from  it.  Up  those  stairs  the  man  had  gone; 
and  a  few  moments  later  the  three  cadets  were  standing 
hesitatingly  at  the  foot  of  them. 

"He  may  have  a  gun,"  whispered  Chauncey. 

Texas  reached  around  to  his  hip  pocket  instinctively 
at  that ;  he  groaned  when  he  realized  his  defenseless  con- 
dition. 

"That's  the  worst  o'  these  yere  ole  Eastern  ways,"  he 


2o8  Burglar  Hunting. 

muttered.  "Ef  a  feller  had  bought  these  yere  pants  in 
Texas  more'n  likely  he'd  'a*  found  some  guns  in  'em." 

Texas  had  but  a  few  moments  more  to  growl  however, 
for  Mark  stepped  forward,  suddenly  and  started  up  the 
steps. 

"Come  on,"  he  said.  "Let's  have  it  over  with.  He 
can't  shoot  all  of  us  at  once." 

Slowly  they  crept  up  the  stairs,  pausing  at  every  step 
to  listen.  They  reached  the  top  and  peering  around 
found  a  dimly-lit  hall  without  a  sign  of  life  about  it. 

"Perhaps  he's  in  one  o'  them  aire  rooms,"  whispered 
Texas.  "I " 

"S'h!"  muttered  Mark. 

His  exclamation  was  caused  by  a  slight  noise  on  the 
floor  above,  a  faint  tread. 

"He's  upon  the  next  floor!"  gasped  the  three.    "Shall 

^ » 

They  did ;  Mark  led  the  way  and  with  still  more  trem- 
bling caution  they  stole  on,  crouching  in  the  shadow  of 
the  banisters,  trying  to  stifle  the  very  beatings  of  their 
hearts  and  breathing  fast  with  excitement. 

Up,  up.  There  were  twenty-one  stairs  to  that  flight; 
Mark  knew  that,  because  they  stopped  a  long  while  on 


Burglar  Hunting.  209 

each  listening  for  another  clew  to  the  burglar's  where- 
abouts, and  trembling  as  they  imagined  him  peering  over 
at  them. 

Not  a  sign  of  him  did  they  see  or  hear,  however,  until 
they  reached  the  level  of  the  floor,  where  they  could  lean 
forward  and  look  around  the  balustrade.  First  they 
heard  a  sound  of  heavy  breathing,  as  from  a  sleeper. 
That  was  in  the  rear  room,  and  Mark,  peering  in,  saw  the 
person  clearly. 

There  was  a  faint  light  in  the  room,  a  light  from  a 
dimly-burning  gas  jet.  The  room  was  apparently  de- 
serted except  for  the  sleeper.  It  was  a  woman,  for  Mark 
could  see  her  hair  upon  the  pillow.  But  where  was  the 
burglar  ? 

The  answer  came  with  startling  suddenness,  suddenness 
that  precipitated  a  calamity.  The  room  next  to  the  rear 
one  was  dark  and  silent  until,  without  a  moment's  warn- 
ing, all  at  once  a  light  flashed  out.  And  there  was  the 
burglar.  The  reckless  villain  had  lit  the  gas,  so  sure 
was  he  of  his  safety.  And  he  was  standing  now  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  stealthily  taking  off  his  coat  before 
starting  to  work. 

Naturally  that  sudden  flash  of  light  startled  the  three; 


2io  Burglar  Hunting. 

it  startled  them  so  much  that  Chauncey  leaped  back  with 
a  gasp  of  alarm ;  and  a  moment  later,  his  heel  catching  in 
the  end  of  his  huge  green  overcoat,  he  tripped  and  stag- 
gered, clutched  wildly  at  nothing,  and  with  a  shriek  of 
alarm  tumbled  backward,  rolling  over  and  over  with  a 
series  of  crashes  that  made  the  building  shake.  And  then 
there  was  fun. 

In  the  first  place,  as  to  the  burglar ;  he  started  back  in 
horror,  realizing  his  discovery;  in  the  second  place,  as  to 
the  woman;  she  sat  up  in  bed  with  the  celerity  of  a  jack- 
in-the-box,  and  an  instant  later  gave  vent  to  a  series  of 
screams  that  awoke  the  neighborhood. 

"Help!  Help!  Burglars!  Murder!  Thieves!  Fire! 
Help!" 

In  the  third  place,  as  to  the  cadets.  Their  first  thought 
was  of  Chauncey,  and  they  turned  and  bounded  down  the 
steps  to  the  bottom.  They  found  him  "rattled"  but  un- 
hurt, and  they  picked  him  up  and  set  him  on  his  feet. 
Their  second  thought  was  of  the  burglar,  that  ruthless 
villain  who  perhaps  even  now  was  making  his  escape 
by  a  window.  The  thought  made  them  jump. 

"Forward !"  shouted  Mark. 

And  to  a  man  they  sprang  up  the  stairs,  two  or  three 


Burglar  Hunting.  21 1 

steps  at  a  time,  shouting  "Burglars !"  as  they  went.  They 
reached  the  top  and  bounded  into  the  room,  where  they 
found  the  man  in  the  very  act  of  rushing  out  of  the  door. 
Mark  sprang  at  him,  seized  him  by  the  throat  and  bore 
him  to  the  ground.  And  the  two  others  plunged  upon  the 
pile. 

"Hold  him !    Hold  him !    Help !  Help !"  was  the  cry. 

Meanwhile  the  woman  had  arisen  from  the  bed,  very 
naturally,  and  was  now  rushing  about  the  hall  in  typical 
angelic  costume,  occasionally  poking  her  head  out  of  the 
windows  and  shrieking  for  burglars  and  help,  using  a 
voice  that  had  a  very  strong  Irish  brogue. 

In  response  to  her  stentorian  tones  help  was  not  slow 
in  arriving.  A  crash  upon  the  door  was  heard ;  the  door 
gave  way,  and  up  the  stairs  rushed  two  men. 

"Help  us  hold  him!"  roared  Texas,  who  was  at  this 
moment  trying  his  level  best  to  push  the  criminal's  nose 
through  the  carpet.  "Help  us  to  hold  him !" 

But  to  his  infinite  surprise  the  two  newcomers  made  a 
savage  rush  on  him,  and  in  an  instant  more  the  true  state 
of  affairs  flashed  over  Texas. 

"They're  friends  of  the  burglar!"  he  cried.  "Whoop! 
Come  on,  that!" 


Burglar  Hunting. 

The  two  men  were  not  slow  to  accept  his  invitation. 
They  added  their  bodies  to  the  already  complicated  heap 
of  arms  and  legs  that  were  writhing  about  on  the  floor, 
and  after  that  the  melee  was  even  livelier  than  ever.  Even 
the  woman  took  a  hand ;  her  Irish  blood  would  not  let  her 
stay  out  of  the  battle  long,  and  she  pitched  in  with  a 
broom,  whacking  everything  promiscuously. 

What  would  have  been  the  end  of  all  this  riot  I  do  not 
pretend  to  say;  I  only  know  that  Mark  was  devoting 
himself  persistently  to  the  task  of  holding  the  burglar  un- 
derneath him,  in  spite  of  all  manner  of  punches  and  kicks, 
and  that  Texas  was  dashing  back  and  forth  across  the 
room,  plowing  his  way  recklessly  through  every  human 
being  he  saw  when  the  "scrap"  was  brought  to  an  un- 
timely end  by  the  arrival  of  one  more  person. 

This  latter  was  a  policeman,  a  policeman  of  the  fat  and 
unwieldy  type  found  only  in  New  York.  He  had  plunged 
up  the  stairs,  club  in  hand,  and  now  stood  red  and  pant- 
ing, menacing  the  crowd. 

"Stop !  stop !"  he  cried.  "Yield  to  the  majesty  of  the 
la-aw." 

Every  one  was  glad  to  do  that,  as  it  appeared ;  the  bat- 


Burglar  Hunting.  213 

tiing  ceased  abruptly  and  all  parties  concerned  rose  up 
and  glared  at  each  other  in  the  dim  light. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  cried  the  "cop." 

If  he  had  realized  the  terrible  consequence  of  that  ques- 
tion he  would  never  have  asked  it.    For  each  and  every  ta 
person  concerned  sprang  forward  to  answer  it. 

"There's  the  burglar!"  cried  Mark,  pointing  excitedly 
at  the  original  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  who  was  wiping 
his  fevered  brow  with  diligence.  "There's  the  burglar! 
Arrest  him !" 

"Yes,  yes!"  roared  Texas.  "Grab  him!  I'll  tell  you 
how  it  was " 

"Howly  saints!"  shrieked  the  woman,  "don't  let  them 
get  away !  They've  broken  me  head,  in  faith !  An'  look 
at  me  poor  husband's  oi !" 

"Me  a  burglar!"  roared  the  person  thus  alluded  to  by 
Mark,  shaking  one  fist  at  Mark  and  the  other  at  the 
officer.  "So  it's  a  burglar  they  call  me,  is  it?  So  that's 
their  trick,  be  jabbers !  An*  a  foine  state  of  affairs  it  is 
when  a  man  can't  come  into  his  own  house  without  being 
called  a  burglar,  bad  cess  to  it.  Bridget,  git  me  that  flat- 
iron  there  an'  soak  the  spalpeen !  Be  the  saints !" 

During  that  tirade  of  incoherent  Irish  the  three  cadets 


214  Burglar  Hunting. 

had  suddenly  collapsed.  The  situation  had  flashed  over 
them  in  all  its  horror  and  awfulness.  The  "burglar"  lived 
in  the  house !  The  woman  was  his  wife !  And  they  were 
the  burglars! 

The  three  gazed  at  each  other  in  consternation  an<J 
sprang  back  instinctively.  The  policeman  took  that  for  a 
move  to  escape  and  he  whipped  out  his  revolver  with  a 
suddenness  that  made  Texas'  mouth  water. 

"Stop !"  he  cried. 

His  command  received  even  more  emphasis  from  the 
fact  that  another  policeman  rushed  up  the  stairs  at  that 
moment.  The  three  stopped. 

"See  here,  officer,"  said  Mark,  as  calmly  as  he  could. 
"This  is  all  a  mistake.  We  aren't  burglars;  we  are  per- 
fectly respectable  young  men " 

"You  look  like  it,"  put  in  the  other,  incredulously. 

Mark's  heart  sank  within  him  at  that.  He  glanced  at 
his  two  companions  and  realized  how  hopeless  was  their 
case.  New  rags  and  tatters  had  been  added  by  the  battle. 
Disheveled  hair,  and  dirt  and  blood-stained  faces  mac!e 
them  about  as  disreputable  specimens  as  could  be  found 
in  New  York.  Respectable  young  men  !  Pooh ! 

"I  could  explain  it,"  groaned  Mark.    "We  thought  this 


Burglar  Hunting.  215 

man  was  a  burglar  and  we  followed  him  in.  We  aren't 
tramps  if  we  do  look  it.  We  are " 

And  then  he  stopped  abruptly;  to  tell  that  they  were 
cadets  would  be  their  ruination  anyway. 

"You're  a  lot  of  thaves  an'  robbers!  Sure  an'  thot's 
what  yez  are !"  shouted  the  irate  "burglar,"  filling  in  the 
sentence  and  at  the  same  time  making  a  rush  at  Mark. 

"Come/'  said  the  policeman,  stopping  him.  "Enough 
of  this.  You  fellers  can  tell  your  yarn  to  the  judge  to- 
morrow morning." 

Mark  gasped  as  he  realized  the  full  import  of  that  sen- 
tence. It  was  two  o'clock  and  their  train  left  in  an  hour 
or  two — their  last  chance !  And  they  could  tell  their  story 
to  the  judge  in  the  morning! 

The  policeman  jerked  a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  his 
pockets  and  stepped  up  to  Mark.  "Hie  latter  saw  that 
resistance  was  hopeless  and  though  it  was  torture  to  him 
he  held  out  his  wrists  and  said  nothing.  Texas,  having 
no  gun,  could  do  nothing  less.  Chauncey  was  the  only 
one  who  "kicked,"  and  he  kicked  like  a  steer. 

"Bah  Jove !"  he  cried.  "This  is  an  insult,  a  deuced  in- 
sult! I  won't  stand  it,  don't  cher  know!  Stop,  I  say.  I 


216  Burglar  Hunting. 

won't  go,  bah  Jove!  I'll  send  for  my  father  and  have 
every  man  on  the  blasted  police  force  fired !  I " 

The  snap  of  the  handcuffs  and  the  feeling  of  the  cold 
steel  subdued  Chauncey  and  he  subsided  into  growls.  The 
officer  took  him  by  the  arm,  saying  something  as  he  did 
so  about  an  "English  crook."  And  then  the  three  filed 
downstairs,  the  indignant  and  much-bruised  Irishman  fol- 
lowing and  enlivening  the  proceedings  with  healthy  ana- 
themas. 

That  walk  to  the  station  house  the  three  will  never  for- 
get as  long  as  they  live,  it  was  so  unspeakably  degrading ; 
it  was  only  a  short  way,  just  around  the  corner,  but  it 
was  bad  enough.  Idlers  and  loafers  fell  in  behind  to  jeer 
at  them,  scarcely  giving  them  chance  to  reflect  upon  the 
desperately-horrible  situation  they  were  in. 

Mark  was  glad  when  at  last  the  door  of  the  station 
house  shut  upon  them  to  hide  them  from  curious  eyes. 
There  was  almost  no  one  in  here  to  stare  at  them,  but  a 
sleepy  sergeant  at  the  desk;  he  looked  up  with  interes* 
when  they  entered,  and  were  marched  up  before  him. 

"What's  this?"  he  inquired. 

"Burglars,"  said  one  of  the  officers,  briefly. 


Burglar  Hunting. 

Chauncey's  wrath  had  been  pent  up  for  some  ten  min- 
utes then,  and  at  that  word  it  boiled  over  again. 

"Pm  no  burglar!"  he  roared.  "I  tell  you,  you  fools, 
Fm  no  burglar !  Bah  Jove,  this  is  an  outrage." 

"Faith  an'  yez  are  a  burglar!"  shouted  the  Irishman, 
likewise  indignant.  "An'  faith,  Mr.  Sergeant,  the  divils 
broke  into  me  house  and  near  broke  me  head,  too,  bad 
cess  to  'em.  An'  thot,  too,  whin  Oi'd  been  to  the  club 
an'  were  a-thryin'  to  git  to  sleep  without  wakin'  me  wife. 
An'  faith  she'll  be  after  me  wid  a  shtick,  thot  she  will, 
to-morrer !" 

"We  aren't  burglars,  I  say !"  protested  Chauncey.  "We 
thought  he  was  a  burglar.  We're  cade " 

Here  Mark  gave  him  a  nudge  that  nearly  knocked  him 
over;  he  looked  up  and  caught  sight  of  a  spruce  young 
man  with  pencil  and  notebook  working  diligently.  It 
was  a  reporter  and  Chauncey  took  the  hint  and  shut  up. 

"Name?"  inquired  the  sergeant,  seeing  him  quiet  at 
last. 

"My  name,  bah  Jove?"  exclaimed  the  other.  "Chaun- 
cey Van  Ren " 

Again  Mark  gave  him  a  poke. 

"Peter  Smith,"  said  Chauncey. 


2i8  Burglar  Hunting. 

"And  yours?" 

"John  Jones,"  said  Texas. 

"And  yours?" 

Mark  glanced  at  the  others  with  one  last  dying  trao? 
of  a  smile. 

"Timothy  O'Flaherty,"  said  he.  "You  understand,"  he 
added,  to  ease  his  conscience,  "they're  all  fictitious,  of 
course." 

The  sergeant  nodded  as  he  wrote  the  names. 

"We'll  find  the  right  ones  in  the  Rogues'  Gallery,"  he 
remarked  sarcastically. 

That  fired  Chauncey  again,  and  he  went  off  into  another 
tirade  of  abuse  and  indignation,  which  was  finally  closed 
by  the  officers  offering  to  "soak  him"  if  he  didn't  shut 
up.  Then  they  were  led  off  to  a  cell — number  seven,  curi- 
ously enough.  And  as  the  door  shut  with  a  clank  the 
three  gasped  and  realized  that  it  was  the  death  knell  of 
their  earthly  hopes. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CHAUNCEY   HAS   AN    IDEA. 

Three  more  utterly  discouraged  and  disgusted  plebes 
than  our  friends  would  be  hard  to  manufacture.  There 
wasn't  a  ray  of  hope,  any  more  than  a  ray  of  light  to 
illumine  that  dark  cell.  There  was  only  one  possibility 
to  be  considered,  apparently — they  would  be  hauled  up  in 
the  police  court  the  next  morning  and  required  to  give 
an  account  of  themselves.  If  they  gave  it,  said  they  were 
cadets,  it  would  be  good-by  West  Point;  for  they  had 
broken  a  dozen  rules.  If  on  the  other  hand  they  chose 
to  remain  Peter  Smith,  John  Jones  and  Timothy  O'Fla- 
herty,  young  toughs,  it  would  be  something  like  "One 
thousand  dollars'  bail,"  or  else  "remanded  without  bail 
for  trial" — and  no  West  Point  all  the  same ! 

The  three  had  characteristic  methods  of  showing  their 
disgust.  Texas  had  gone  to  sleep  in  a  corner,  seeing  no 
use  in  worrying.  Mark  was  sitting  moodily  on  the  floor, 
trying  his  best  to  think  of  something  to  do.  Chauncey 
was  prancing  up  and  down  the  cell  about  as  indignant  as 
ever  was  a  "haughty  aristocrat,"  vowing  vengeance 


22O  Chauncey  Has  an  Idea. 

against  everybody  and  everything  in  a  blue  uniform  as 
sure  as  his  name  was  Chaun — er,  Peter  Smith. 

Mad  and  excited  as  Chauncey  was,  it  was  from  him 
that  the  first  gleam  of  hope  came.  And  when  Chauncey 
hit  upon  his  idea  he  fairly  kicked  himself  for  his  stupidity 
in  not  hitting  on  it  before.  A  moment  later  his  friends, 
and  in  fact  the  whole  station  house,  were  startled  by  his 
wild  yells  for  "somebody"  to  come  there. 

An  officer  came  in  a  hurry  thinking  of  murder  or 
what  not. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  cried. 

"Bah  Jove!"  remarked  our  young  friend,  eying  him 
with  haughty  scorn  that  made  a  hilarious  contrast  with 
his  outlandish  green  August  overcoat.  "Bah  Jove,  don't 
be  so  peremptory,  so  rude,  ye  know !" 

"W — why !"  gasped  the  amazed  policeman. 

"I  want  to  know,  don't  ye  know,"  said  Chauncey,  "if 
I  can  send  a  telegram,  bah  Jove  ?" 

"Yes,"  growled  the  other.  "That  is,  if  you've  got  any 
money." 

Chauncey  pulled  out  his  "roll,"  which  had  been  missed 
when  they  searched  him,  and  tossed  a  five-dollar  bill  care* 
lessly  to  the  man. 


Chatmcey  Has  an  Idea. 

"Take  that,"  said  he.  "Bah  Jove,  I  don't  want  it,  ye 
know.  Come  now,  write  what  I  tell  you." 

The  man  took  the  bill  in  a  hurry  and  drew  out  a  pencil 
and  notebook,  while  Chauncey's  two  fellow-prisoners 
stared  anxiously.  Chauncey  dictated  with  studied  scorn 
and  indifference. 

"Am — arrested,"  said  he,  "for — burglary — ye — know." 

The  policeman  wrote  the  "ye  know,"  obediently,  though 
he  gasped  in  amazement  and  muttered  "lunatic." 

"Under — name — of — Peter — Smith Street — sta- 
tion. Come — instantly  Chauncey." 

"Who  shall  I  send  it  to?"  inquired  the  "stenographer." 

"Let  me  see,"  Chauncey  mused.  "Bah  Jove,  not  to 
fawther,  ye  know.  They'd  see  the  name,  ruin  the  family 
reputation.  A  deuced  mess !  Oh  yes,  bah  Jove,  I'll  have 
all  me  uncles,  ye  know!  Ready  there?  First,  Mr.  Perry 
Bellwood, Fifth  Avenue " 

"What !"  gasped  the  officer. 

"Write  what  I  say,"  commanded  Chauncey,  sternly; 

"and  no  comments !  Second,  Mr.  W.  K.  Vanderpool, 

Fifth  Avenue.  Third— bah  Jove— Mr.  W.  C.  Stickhey, 
Fifth  Avenue.  Fourth " 


222  Chauncey  Has  an  Idea. 

"How  many  do  you  want?"  expostulated  the  other. 

"Silencer  roared  the  "dude."  "Do  as  I  say!  I  take 

no  chances.  Fourth,  Mr.  Bradley-Marvin,  Fifth 

'Avenue.  And  that'll  do,  I  guess,  ye  know.  Run  for  your 
life,  then,  deuce  take  it,  and  I'll  give  you  another  five  if 
they  get  here  in  a  hawf  hour,  bah  Jove." 

There  was  probably  no  more  amazed  policeman  on  the 
metropolitan  force  than  that  one.  But  he  hustled  accord- 
ing to  orders  none  the  less.  Certainly  there  was  no  more 
satisfied  plebe  in  the  whole  academy  class  than  Mr.  Chaun- 
cey Van  Rensselaer  Mount-Bonsall  of  New  York.  "It's 
all  right  now,  bah  Jove,"  said  he.  "They'll  be  here  soon." 

And  with  those  words  of  comfort  Chauncey  subsided 
and  was  asleep  from  sheer  exhaustion  two  minutes  later. 
Though  he  slept,  forgetful  of  the  whole  affair,  there  were 
a  few  others  who  did  not  sleep,  messenger  boys  and  mil- 
lionaires especially. 

The  sergeant  at  the  desk  had  had  no  one  but  one 
"drunk"  to  register  during  the  next  half  hour,  and  so  he 
was  pretty  nearly  asleep  himself.  The  doorman  was 
slumbering  peacefully  in  his  chair,  and  two  or  three 
roundsmen  and  officers  were  sitting  together  in  one  cor- 
ner whispering.  That  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  the 


CHauncey  Has  an  Idea. 

police  station  when  something  happened  all  of  a  sudden 
that  made  everybody  leap  up  with  interest. 

A  carriage  came  slamming  up  the  street  at  race-horse 
speed.  Any  one  who  has  lain  awake  at  night,  or  rather 
in  the  early  hours  of  morning,  when  the  city  is  as  silent 
as  a  graveyard,  has  noticed  the  clatter  made  by  a  single 
wagon.  An  approaching  tornado  or  earthquake  could 
not  have  made  much  more  of  a  rumpus  than  this  one. 
The  sergeant  sat  up  in  alarm  and  the  doorman  flung  upon 
the  door  and  rushed  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

They  were  soon  to  learn — the  driver  yanked  up  his  gal- 
loping horses  directly  in  front  of  the  building.  At  the 
same  instant  the  coach-  door  was  flung  open  with  a  bang. 
It  was  an  elderly  gentleman  who  hopped  out,  and  he 
made  a  dash  for  the  entrance,  nearly  bowling  the  doorman 
over  in  his  haste. 

Now  it  is  not  often  that  a  "swell  bloke"  like  that  visits 
a  station  house  at  such  hours.  The  sergeant  gazed  at 
him  in  alarm,  expecting  a  burglary,  a  murder,  or  perhaps 
even  a  dynamite  plot. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  cried. 

The  man  dashed  up  to  the  desk,  breathless  from  his 
unusual  exertion. 


224  Chauncey  Has  an  Idea. 

"My  boy !"  he  cried.    "Where  is  he  ?" 

"Your  boy?"  echoed  the  sergeant.  "Where  is  he? 
What  on  earth?" 

The  sergeant  thought  he  had  a  lunatic  then. 

"My  boy!"  reiterated  the  man  excitedly.  "Chauncey! 
He's  a  prisoner  here !" 

The  officer  shook  his  head  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"I've  got  nobody  named  Chauncey,"  said  he.  "You've 
come  to  the  wrong  place." 

The  man  happened  to  think  of  the  telegram ;  he  glanced 
at  it. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  cried,  suddenly.  "I  forgot.  Peter  Smith 
is  the  name  he  gave.  You've  a  Peter  Smith  here !" 

The  sergeant  gazed  at  the  excited  man  in  indescribable 
amazement. 

"Peter  Smith !"  he  stammered.  "Why,  yes.  But  he's  a 
tramp.  He's  arrested  for  burglary,  and " 

The  strange  gentleman  was  evidently  angry  at  having 
been  stirred  out  of  bed  so  early  in  the  morning.  More- 
over he  was  insulted  at  the  outrageous  idea  of  his  nephew's 
being  in  a  common  prison  house  as  a  burglar.  Altogether 
he  was  mad  through,  and  didn't  take  the  trouble  to  be 
cautious. 


Chauncey  Has  an  Idea.  225 

"Let  him  out  this  instant,  I  say,"  he  demanded,  indig- 
nantly. "How  dare  you " 

Now  the  sergeant  was  a  pompous  individual  and  he 
had  no  idea  of  being  "bossed"  like  that  by  any  one,  who- 
ever he  might  be,  least  of  all  in  the  presence  of  his  men. 
Moreover,  he  was  an  Irishman,  and  this  angry  individ- 
ual's superior  way  got  him  wild. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded,  with  more  conciseness 
than  courtesy. 

"I'm  Perry  Bell  wood,"  said  the  other  with  just  as  much 
asperity.  "And  what  is  more " 

"Who  in  thunder  is  Perry  Bellwood?"  roared  the  ser- 
geant. 

That  took  all  the  wind  out  of  the  elderly  and  aristocratic 
gentleman's  sails. 

"You  don't  know  Perry  Bellwood  ?"  he  gasped.  "Perry 
Bellwood,  the  banker !" 

"Never  saw  him,"  retorted  the  sergeant. 

"And  you  won't  release  my  nephew?" 

"No,  sir.  I  won't  release  your  nephew!"  roared  the 
officer,  hammering  on  his  desk  for  emphasis.  "I  wouldn't 
release  him  for  you  or  any  other  banker  in  New  York, 
or  the  whole  crowd  of  them  together.  Do  you  hear  that? 


226  Chauncey  Has  an  Idea. 

I'd  like  to  know  what  you  think  a  police  sergeant  is, 
anyhow.  A  nice  state  of  affairs  it  would  be  if  I  had  to  set 
loose  every  burglar  and  murderer  in  prison  because  of 
some  man  who  thinks  he  owns  the  earth  because  he  is  a 
banker." 

The  sergeant  was  red  in  the  face  from  anger  as  he 
finished  this  pointed  declaration.  Mr.  Bell  wood  was  pa- 
cing up  and  down  the  room  furiously.  He  turned  upon 
the  man  suddenly  when  he  finished. 

"I'll  bet  you  all  I  own,"  he  said,  "that  you'll  do  as  I  say, 
and  in  an  hour,  too." 

"And  I'll  bet  you  my  job  I  don't,"  snapped  the  ser- 
geant. "I'll  see  who's  running  this  place " 

By  that  time  the  outraged  banker  had  made  a  dash  for 
his  carriage.  The  outraged  sergeant  planked  himself 
down  on  his  chair  and  gazed  about  him  indignantly. 

"The  very  idea!"  vowed  he.  "The  very  idea!  That 
fellow  talked  to  me  as  if  he  were  the  mayor.  I'd  a  good 
mind  to  lock  him  up.  I  wouldn't  let  those  burglars  loose 
now  for  all  Fifth  Avenue." 

He  was  given  a  chance  to  prove  that  last  assertion  of 
his,  a  good  deal  more  of  a  chance  than  he  expected  when 
he  made  it.  He  had  hardly  gotten  the  words  out  of  his 


Chauncey  Has  an  Idea.  227 

mouth,  and  the  rattle  of  the  carriage  had  not  yet  died 
away  before  another  one  dashed  up  to  the  door. 

The  sergeant  thought  it  was  the  same  fellow  back,  and 
he  got  up  angrily.  The  door  was  flung  open  and  in 
dashed  another  man,  even  more  aristocratic  in  bearing 
than  the  other. 

"My  name  is  Mr.  Stickhey,"  said  he,  gravely,  "and 
I've  come " 

"I  suppose  you  want  to  raise  a  rumpus  about  that  con- 
founded Chauncey,  too!"  cried  the  sergeant,  getting  red 
to  the  ends  of  his  whiskers. 

"W-why!  What's  this?"  gasped  the  astonished  mil- 
lionaire. 

"And  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  let  him  go,  don't  you  ?" 

"W — why!"  gasped  the  astonished  millionaire  again. 
"What " 

"Well,  if  you  do  you  might  as  well  understand  that  I 

>  don't  mean  to  do  it.    And  you  needn't  be  wasting  any 

breath  about  it  either.    I've  stood  about  all  of  this  I  mean 

to  stand  from  anybody.    I  don't  set  my  prisoners  loose  for 

the  devil  himself,  and  I  won't  for  you.    Now  then !" 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  look  of  amazement 


Channcey  Has  an  Idea. 

that  was  on  the  dignified  Mr.  Stickhey's  face.  He  stared, 
and  then  he  started  again. 

"Why,  officer!"  said  he.    "I'm  sure " 

"So'm  I !"  vowed  the  sergeant.  "Dead  sure !  And  all 
your  talk  won't  change  the  fact,  either,  that  Peter  Smith, 
or  Chauncey,  or  whoever  he  is,  stays  where  he  is  till  morn- 
ing. And  the  sooner  you  realize  it  the  better." 

The  millionaire  stared  yet  half  a  minute  more,  and  then 
he  whirled  about  on  his  heel  and  strode  out,  without  an- 
other word. 

"I'll  see  about  this,"  said  he. 

The  sergeant  did  not  return  to  his  seat;  he  was  too 
mad.  He  pranced  up  and  down  the  room  like  a  wild  man, 
vowing  vengeance  on  all  the  dudes  and  bankers  in  exist- 
ence. 

"I  wonder  if  any  more  of  them  are  coming,"  exclaimed 
he.  "By  jingo,  I  just  wish  they  would.  I'm  just  in  the 
humor — gee  whiz !" 

It  was  another !  Yet  older  and  more  sedate  than  either 
of  the  others  he  marched  in  and  gazed  haughtily  about 
him. 

"I've  a  nephew "  he  began ;  and  there  he  stopped. 

"Oh !"  said  the  sergeant.    "You  have!    Get  out!" 


Chauncey  Has  an  Idea.  229 

"Why— er " 

"Get  out!" 

"What  in " 

"Do  you  hear  me?  Get  out  of  here,  I  say!  Not  a 
word,  or  I'll  have  you — ah!  I  wonder  if  there'll  be  any 
more  of  'em." 

This  last  was  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction  as  Millionaire 
No.  3  fled  precipitately.  The  sergeant  rubbed  his  hands 
gleefully.  This  sport  bade  fair  to  last  all  night,  he 
realized  to  his  great  satisfaction  as  he  faced  about  and 
waited. 

He  was  waiting  for  number  four  to  show  up.  He  was 
getting  madder  still  and  this  time  he  was  fingering  his 
club  suggestively.  At  the  very  first  gleam  of  a  white 
shirt  front  he  drew  it  and  made  a  dash  for  the  door. 

It  was  Mr.  Vanderpool,  number  four. 

"Get  out !"  said  the  irate  sergeant,  menacingly,  and  he 
swung  up  his  weapon.  The  gentleman  thought  he  had 
met  with  a  maniac;  he  gave  one  glance  and  then  made  a 
dash  for  the  carriage.  The  officer  faced  about,  replaced 
his  club,  and  softly  murmured  "Next." 

But  the  "next"  never  came.  The  sergeant  got  weary 
of  pacing  about  and  finally  sat  down  again.  Half  an  hour 


230  Chauncey  Has  an  Idea. 

passed  and  he  began  to  doze ;  the  fun  for  that  night  was 
over,  thought  he,  and  laughed  when  he  thought  how  mad 
he  had  been. 

I'd  just  like  to  see  any  Fifth  Avenue  dudes  running 
this  place,"  he  muttered.    "I  never  heard  of  such  a  piece  v 
of  impertinence  in  my  life !" 

Through  all  this  the  plebes  were  peacefully  sleeping. 
What  poor  Chauncey  would  have  done  if  he  had  seen  his 
four  uncles  insulted  by  that  irate  policeman  is  left  to  the 
imagination  of  the  reader.  It  would  most  infallibly  have 
been  the  death  of  Chauncey,  and  so  perhaps  it  is  just  as 
well  that  he  didn't  awaken. 

The  clock  over  the  station  house  door  was  at  three.  It 
will  be  remembered  that  the  train  left  at  three-thirty. 
The  only  train  that  could  possibly  save  those  unfortunate 
plebes.  Three-thirty  was  the  time  the  ferryboat  left.  But 
the  station  house  was  two  miles  and  more  from  the  ferry- 
slip.  Altogether  things  were  getting  very  interesting. 
For  the  sergeant  dozed  on,  and  the  prisoners  slept  on  and 
the  clock  went  on  to  three-fifteen.  It  was  a  wonder  Mark 

k 

Mallory  didn't  have  a  nightmare. 

It  is  of  the  nature  of  thunderbolts  to  strike  swiftly. 
There  is  no  parleying,  no  stopping  for  introductions,  no 


CHauncey  Has  an  Idea.  231 

delays.    Therefore  there  will  be  none  in  describing  what 
happened  next. 

The  sergeant  sat  up  with  a  start ;  so  did  the  doorman, 
and  so  did  everybody  else  in  the  place.  There  was  the 
rattle  of  another  carriage! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

BACK   AGAIN. 

The  sergeant  had  gotten  over  his  anger,  but  he  meant 
to  be  consistent,  all  the  same.  If  this  was  another  one  of 
those  "bloated  aristocrats"  he'd  better  look  out  for  trouble, 
that  was  all. 

The  carriage  drew  up  in  the  usual  fashion,  the  sergeant 
seized  his  club.  There  was  a  flash  of  white  shirt  front 
and  the  sergeant  made  a  leap  for  the  door.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  staggered  back  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  It  was 
Millionaire  No.  i,  hatless  and  breathless,  almost  coatless 
and  senseless,  dragging  in  his  wake — the  captain  of  the 
precinct ! 

The  sergeant  saluted  and  gasped. 

"I  told  you,"  cried  Millionaire  No.  i. 

"You've  a  prisoner  here  named  Smith?"  cried  the  cap- 
tain. 

"Er — yes,"  stammered  the  sergeant. 

"Send  him  here,  quick !" 

The  poor  officer  was  too  much  amazed  and  thunder- 
struck to  be  chagrined  at  his  defeat.  He  made  a  rush  for 


Back  Again. 

the  cell ;  shouted  to  the  prisoners ;  and  half  a  minute  later 
Chauncey,  green  August  overcoat  and  all,  was  in  his 
uncle's  arms. 

The  sergeant  turned  to  the  smiling  police  captain. 

"Allow  me  to  present " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  yell ;  Chauncey  had  glanced  up 
at  the  clock. 

"Good  heavens !"  he  cried.  "We've  ten  minutes  to  make 
the  train !" 

Chauncey,  aristocratic  and  Chesterfieldian  Chauncey, 
alas,  I  blush  to  record  it,  had  forgotten  in  one  instant  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  on  earth  as  a  rule  of  etiquette.  He 
forgot  that  there  was  such  a  person  on  earth  as  a  police 
captain.  He  never  even  looked  at  him.  His  two  friends 
at  his  side,  he  made  one  wild  dash  for  the  door. 

He  was  not  destined  to  get  out  of  it,  however.  During 
the  excitement  no  one  had  noticed  the  approach  of  an- 
other white  shirt  front  and  in  rushed  Millionaire  No.  2. 

No.  2  had  the  chief  of  police ! 

"You've  a  prisoner  here  named  Smith "  cried  the 

latter  excitedly.  "Release " 

Just  then  the  millionaire  caught  sight  of  Chauncey,  and 


234  Back  Again. 

again  there  were  handshakes  and  apologies,  another  scur- 
rying toward  the  door. 

"I  can't  stop,  I  tell  you !"  roared  Chauncey.    "I'll  miss 
\ 
the  train — quick — bah  Jove,  ye  know,  I'll  be  ruined — 

I " 

There  was  another  clatter  of  wheels  at  the  door. 

"Good  gracious!"  gasped  the  unfortunate  cadet.  "It's 
somebody  else !  Bah  Jove !  Deuce  take  the  luck !" 

Nothing  has  been  said  of  the  unfortunate  sergeant  dur- 
ing this.  He  was  leaning  against  his  desk  in  a  state  of 
collapse.  Millionaire  No.  3  had  entered  the  room. 

Millionaire  No.  3  had  a  police  commissioner ! 

"You've  a  prisoner  here  named  Smith,"  cried  he.  "Re- 
lease  " 

This  time  the  plebes  were  desperate.  They  could  stand 
it  no  longer.  Chauncey  had  forced  his  way  to  the  door 
and  made  a  dash  for  one  of  the  carriages. 

"Drive "  he  began,  and  then  he  stopped  long  enough 

to  see  another  carriage  rush  up — Millionaire  No.  4.  Mil- 
lionaire No.  4  had  somebody — Chauncey  didn't  know  who. 
But  the  agonized  sergeant  did. 

It  was  no  less  a  personage  than  his  honor,  the  mayor. 


Back  Again.  235 

(His  honor  the  mayor  was  mad,  too,  and  you  may  bet 
the  sergeant  caught  it.) 

With  that  our  three  friends  had  nothing  to  do.  They 
had  piled  into  the  carriage,  Millionaire  No.  i  with  them, 
and  likewise  the  captain,  to  make  sure  that  they  weren't 
arrested  for  fast  driving.  And  away  the-  rattled  down 
the  street. 

"Christopher  Street — seven  minutes!"  roared  Chaun- 
cey.  "For  your  life — bah  Jove !" 

After  which  there  was  fun  to  spare.  New  York  streets 
aren't  made  for  race  tracks,  and  the  way  that  carriage 
swayed  and  bumped  was  a  caution.  The  driver  had  taken 
them  at  their  word  and  was  going  for  dear  life.  Three 
times  the  captain  had  to  lean  out  of  the  window  to  quell 
some  policeman  who  was  shouting  at  them  to  slow  up. 

As  for  the  plebes,  there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do  but 
sit  still  and  wait  in  trembling  anxiousness.  Chauncey's 
uncle  had  a  watch  in  his  hand  with  the  aid  of  which  he 
told  off  the  streets  and  the  seconds. 

"If  we  make  it,"  said  he,  "we  won't  have  ten  seconds 
to  spare.  Faster,  there,  faster!" 

The  poor  cadets  nearly  had  heart  failure  at  that. 

"If  we  miss  it,"  groaned  Mark,  "we  are  gone  forever. 


236  Back  Again. 

The  whole  story'll  come  out  and  we'll  be  expelled  sure 
as  we're  alive.  What  time  did  you  say  it  was  ?" 

"Drive,  there,  drive!"  roared  Chauncey. 

All  things  come  to  an  end.  Those  that  haven't  will 
some  day.  It  seemed  an  age  to  the  suffering  plebes,  but 
that  drive  was  over  at  last.  And  the  end  of  it  was  so 
terrible  that  they  would  have  preferred  the  suspense. 

The  carriage  was  yanked  up  and  brought  to  stop  in 
front  of  the  ferry  gates  just  as  the  boat  was  gliding  from 
her  slip. 

"he  look  that  was  upon  the  faces  of  the  three  would 
have  moved  a  Sphinx  to  tears.  They  sank  back  in  the 
carriage  and  never  said  one  word.  It  was  all  over.  West 
Point  was  gone.  To  the  three  that  meant  that  life  was 
no  longer  worth  the  living. 

It  seemed  almost  too  terrible  to  be  true.  Mark  Mallory 
pinched  himself  to  make  sure  he  was  alive;  that  all  this 
dream  had  really  happened,  that  he  really  was  beyond 
hope. 

And  then  suddenly  the  police  captain  gave  vent  to  a 
startled  exclamation  and  whacked  his  knee. 

"Desbrosses  Street!"  he  roared  to  the  startled  driver, 


Back  Again.  237 

and  an  instant  later  the  carriage  was  speeding  away  down 
along  the  wharves. 

Where  they  were  going,  or  why,  none  of  them  had  the 
least  idea,  except  the  captain ;  and  he  said  nothing.  The 
trip  was  a  short  one,  only  three  or  four  blocks.  At  the 
end  of  it  he  sprang  from  the  carriage. 

"Quick,  quick !"  he  cried,  and  made  a  dash  for  one  of 
the  piers. 

The  rest  did  not  need  to  be  urged  to  follow.  They 
'beat  the  captain  there  in  their  haste.  For  they  saw  then 
where  he  was  going ;  a  police  tug  was  lying  at  the  wharf. 

"Quick !"  roared  the  captain,  leaping  aboard.  "Follow 
that  ferry !" 

And  half  a  minute  later  the  engines  of  the  tug  were 
throbbing  and  the  tug  was  sweeping  out  into  the  river. 

A  few  minutes  after  that  there  were  three  tough-looking 
tramps  contentedly  dozing  in  a  Pullman  car  of  the  West 
Shore  express. 

The  same  three  sneaked  into  Camp  McPherson  at  the 
very  moment  when  Cadet  Corporal  Vance  (of  the  Bull 
Harris  gang)  was  superintending  the  loading  of  the 
reveille  gun. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   CHALLENGE. 

"Hey,  there,  wake  up!" 

"Urn— urn.    Don't  bother  me." 

"Wow!    Git  up,  man " 

"Say,  Texas,  didn't  I  tell  you  I  wanted  to  sleep  this 
hour?  Haven't  I  been  awake  now  two  nights  in  succes- 
sion helping  you  haze  the  yearlings  ?  Now  I  want  to  take 
a  nap ;  so  let  me  alone." 

"Wake  up!"  repeated  Texas.  "Ain't  you  got  sense 
enough,  Mark  Mallory,  to  know  I'm  not  pesterin'  you  fo' 
nothin'?  Git  yo'  eyes  open  thar  and  listen.  I  got  some- 
thing to  tell  you.  I  know  you're  sleepy — thar  ain't  no 
need  tellin'  me  that  aire  ag'in.  I  know  you  were  up  night 
afore  last  hazin'  them  ole  yearlin's,  an'  last  night,  too, 
'cause  they  tied  us  up  an'  fired  us  into  that  freight  train 
goin'  to  New  York.  But  this  hyar's  more  'portant  than 
sleepin'!" 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Mark. 

"There's  a  committee  from  the  first  class  wants  to  see 
you." 


A  Challenge.  239 

"What!" 

"Thar,  naow !  I  knew  you'd  get  yo'  eyes  open,"  laughed 
the  other  triumphantly. 

"What  do  they  want  ?"  inquired  Mark/ 

"You  know  what  they  want  well  as  I  do,"  responded 
Texas.  "They  want  you.  They  want  you  'cause  you're 
the  most  B.  J.  plebe  ever  came  to  West  Point,  'cause  you 
dared  to  defy  'em,  to  refuse  to  be  hazed,  to  lick  'em  when 
they  tried  it,  an'  to  all  'round  raise  the  biggest  rumpus  this 
hyar  ole  place  ever  see.  That's  what !" 

"Do  you  mean,"  laughed  Mark,  "that  they  want  me 
to  fight  some  more?" 

"Course  they  do !"  roared  Texas.  "You  old  idiot,  you ! 
Why  ain't  yo'  up  hustlin'  fo'  the  chance?  You  don't  ap- 
preciate yo'  opportunity,  sah.  Ef  I  had  the  chance  to 
wallop  them  ole  cadets  like  you've  got — wow !  You  know 
what  I'd  do?" 

"I'm  not  a  fire-eating,  wild  and  woolly  cowboy  hunting 
for  fight,"  responded  Mark. 

"That's  all  right,"  grinned  the  other.  "You'll  do  it 
when  the  time  comes.  I  never  see  you  run  yit  when  you 
ought  to  be  fightin',  an'  neither  did  them  ole  cadets.  An* 
say,  Mark!  There's  fun  ahead!  Whoop!  You  remem- 


240  A  Challenge. 

ber  ever  since  you  had  the  nerve  to  go  to  the  hop,  some- 
thin'  no  plebe  ever  dared  do  afore,  them  ole  first  class 
fellers  vowed  they'd  make  you  sorry.  You  made  'em 
madder  since  by  lickin'  one  of  'em  when  they  dared  you 
to.  An'  now  they're  comin'  'roun'  to  git  square." 

"Do  you  mean  they're  going  to  make  me  fight  every 
man  in  the  class,  as  they  said  ?"  inquired  Mark. 

"That's  jes'  what  I  do!"  cried  Texas,  gleefully.  "Jes' 
exactly!  Come  out  hyer  an'  see  'em  yo'self." 

Mark  had  been  making  his  toilet  before  the  little  look- 
ing-glass that  hung  on  the  tent  pole ;  he  turned  then  and 
accompanied  his  friend  out  of  camp  and  over  to  Trophy 
Point,  where  sat  in  all  stateliness  and  dignity  three  sol- 
emn-looking seniors,  a  committee  from  the  first  class  to 
Mark  Mallory,  the  desperate  and  defiant  and  as  yet  un- 
tamed "B.  J."  plebe.  But  he  wasn't  going  to  remain  un- 
tamed very  long  if  that  committee  had  anything  to  do 
with  it. 

They  arose  at  his  approach. 

"Mr.  Mallory?"  said  the  spokesman. 

Mr.  Mallory  bowed. 

"You  come  from  the  first  class,  I  believe,"  he  said. 
"Let  us  proceed  right  to  business." 


A  Challenge.  241 

The  committee,  through  its  spokesman,  cleared  its 
throat  with  a  solemn  "Ahem !" 

"Mr.  Mallory,"  said  he,  "I  presume  you  have  not  for- 
^  gotten  that  a  short  while  ago  you  ventured  to  defy  our 
class  openly.  The  class  has  not  forgotten  it,  for  such  con- 
duct in  a  plebe  cannot  be  tolerated  here.  Your  conduct 
ever  since  you  came  has  been  unbearably  defiant ;  you  have 
set  at  naught  every  cadet  law  of  the  academy.  And  there- 
fore, as  the  class  warned  you  beforehand,  you  must  ex- 
pect trouble." 

Mr.  Mallory  bowed;  he'd  had  a  good  deal  of  it  al- 
ready, he  thought  to  himself. 

"The  class  has  been  waiting,"  continued  the  other,  "for 
you  to  recover  from  the  effects  of  a  dislocated  shoulder,  an 
injury  due  to  another  unpleasant — ahem — accident " 

"Or,  to  be  more  specific,"  inserted  Mark,  very  mildly, 
"due  to  the  fact  that  I  was — er — attacked  by  some — ahem 
— fifty  members  of  the  first  class  in  a  body." 
i      "Not  quite  so  many,"  said  the  chairman,  flushing.  "The 
incident  is  regretted  by  the  class." 

"By  me  also,"  said  Mark,  rubbing  his  shoulder  sug- 
gestively. 

"It  appears,"  the  other  continued  hurriedly,  "that  you 


342  A  Challenge. 

are  now  recovered.  Therefore,  to  be  brief,  the  class  has 
sent  us  to  inquire  as  to  your  wishes  concerning  the  duty 
you  undertook  when  you  ventured  to  defy  them.  You 
know  what  I  mean.  You  stand  pledged,  and  you  will  be 
compelled  to  defend  yourself  before  every  member  of  our 
class  in  turn  until  you  agree  to  apologize  and  become  a 
plebe  once  more." 

The  spokesman  stopped  and  Mark  answered  without 
hesitation,  looking  him  squarely  in  the  eye. 

"Tell  the  class,"  said  he,  "that  I  am  ready  to  meet  any 
one  it  may  select,  to-day  if  necessary,  and  in  any  place 
they  choose.  Tell  them  also  if  they  could  manage  to  select 
one  of  those  who  helped  to  injure  my  shoulder  I  should 
consider  it  a  favor.  Tell  them  that  I  have  nothing  to 
apologize  for.  Tell  them  that  I  renew  my  defiance, 
with  all  possible  courtesy,  of  course ;  tell  them  I  once  more 
refuse  to  be  hazed,  and  shall  refuse  even  when  I  am 
beaten;  and " 

Here  the  excitable  ex-cowboy,  who  had  been  listening 
with  most  evident  delight,  sprang  forward  with  a  whoop. 

"An'  tell  'em,"  he  roared,  "doggone  their  boots,  ef 
they  lick  Mark  fair  or  foul  they  ain't  hardly  begun  what 
they'll  have  to  do!  Tell  'em,  sah,  there's  a  gennelman, 


A  Challenge.  243 

what  never  yit  run  from  man  or  devil,  named  Jeremiah 
Powers,  sah,  son  o'  the  Honorable  Scrap  Powers,  o'  Hur- 
ricane County,  Texas.  Tell  'em  he's  jes'  roaring  for  a 
scrap,  an'  that  he'll  start  in  whar  Mallory  quits!  An* 
tell  'em " 

But  the  committee  had  turned  away  and  started  across 
the  parade  ground  by  that  time.  The  committee  didn't 
consider  it  necessary  to  listen  to  Mr.  Jeremiah  Powers. 

Mark  had  listened  however;  and  as  he  took  Texas  by 
the  hand  the  excitable  Texas  saw  in  his  eyes  that  he  ap- 
preciated the  offer. 

"And  now,"  said  Mark  at  last,  "if  I  am  to  do  some 
fighting  I'd  best  go  back  and  finish  that  nap.  I'll  need 
to  make  up  for  the  sleep  I've  missed." 

An  important  event  had  happened  to  that  company 
that  day,  one  that  had  made  a  great  change  in  their  lives. 
A  month  and  a  half  of  drill  and  discipline,  the  most  rigor- 
ous possible,  had  been  judged  to  have  had  its  effect.  And 
that  day  the  plebes  were  honored  by  being  put  in  the  cadet 
battalion. 

Previously  they  had  "herded"  alone,  a  separate  roll  call, 
separate  drills,  separate  seats  in  mess  hall.  But  now  all 
was  changed.  The  plebe  company  was  broken  up,  the 


244  A  Challenge. 

members  each  going  to  their  own  company  in  the  bat- 
talion, to  hear  their  names  called  with  the  others  at  roll 
call,  to  march  down  to  meals  and  sit  with  them,  too. 
And  that  afternoon  for  the  first  time  the  plebes  were  to 
march  on  parade,  Mark  and  Texas  under  the  command  of 
Fischer,  cadet-captain  of  Company  A. 

Concerning  Fischer,  the  high  and  mighty  first  classman, 
it  may  be  well  to  say  a  word,  for  he  will  figure  prominently 
in  this  story.  Fischer  was  a  member  of  the  first  class,  and 
its  idol.  Tall,  handsome  and  athletic,  he  made  an  ideal 
captain ;  even  the  plebes  thought  that,  and  strange  to  say, 
our  B.  J.  plebes  most  of  all.  For  Fischer  was  a  fair- 
minded,  gentlemanly  fellow  and  more  than  once  he  had 
interfered  to  see  that  Mallory  got  fair  play  with  his 
enemies. 

He  came  in  that  same  afternoon  to  have  a  word  with 
Mark  as  to  the  latest  excitement ;  it  was  an  unusual  thing 
indeed  for  a  cadet  captain  even  to  speak  to  a  plebe,  but 
Fischer  chose  to  be  different.  And,  moreover,  Mallory 
had  earned  for  himself  many  privileges  most  plebes  had 
never  dreamed  of. 

"I  got  a  letter  from  your  friend,  Wicks  Merritt,"  said 
Fischer.  "His  furlough  is  coming  to  an  end.  Poor 


A  Challenge.  245 

Wicks  is  very  much  agitated  for  fear  you'll  be  hazed  out 
of  West  Point  before  he  gets  here.  But  I  told  him  there 
wasn't  much  danger.  I  think  you'll  stick." 

"I  shall  try,"  laughed  Mark,  while  Texas  sat  by  in 
awe  and  gazed  at  the  young  officer's  chevrons  and  sash. 
"I  shall  try.  Have  you  heard  of  my  engagement — the 
latest?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  other,  "I  have.  That's  what  I 
came  in  for.  I  don't  envy  you." 

"I  don't  myself,"  said  the  plebe  thoughtfully.  "I  don't 
like  to  fight.  I'd  a  thousand  times  rather  not,  and  I 
always  say  'no'  when  I  can.  But  I've  vowed  I  wouldn't 
stand  the  kind  of  hazing  I  got,  and  I  don't  mean  to  so  long 
as  I  can  see." 

"I  wish  you  luck,"  said  Fischer.  "I've  told  the  men 
in  my  own  class  that,  for  I  haven't  forgotten,  as  they 
seem  to,  the  time  you  rescued  that  girl  in  the  river." 

"Do  you  know  who'll  be  the  first  man  I  meet?"  in- 
quired the  other,  changing  the  subject. 

"I  do  not;  the  class  is  busily  holding  a  conclave  now 
to  decide  who's  the  best.  They'll  send  their  prize  bantam 
the  first  time,  though  I  doubt  if  we've  a  man  much  better 
than  Billy  Williams,  the  yearling  you  whipped.  Still 


246  A  Challenge. 

you've  got  to  be  at  your  best,  I  want  to  tell  you,  and  I 
want  you  to  understand  that.  When  a  man's  been  three 
years  here  at  West  Point,  as  we  have,  he's  in  just  about 
as  perfect  trim  as  he  ever  will  be  in  his  life." 

"So  am  I,"  responded  Mark. 

"You  are  not,"  said  Fischer,  sharply.  "That's  just  the 
trouble.  I  wouldn't  be  warning  you  if  you  were.  I've 
heard  of  the  monkey  shines  you've  been  kicking  up ;  Bull 
Harris,  that  good-for-nothing  yearling,  was  blowing 
'round  that  he'd  put  you  on  a  train  for  New  York.  The 
whole  thing  is  you've  been  losing  sleep." 

Mallory  tried  to  pass  the  matter  over  lightly,  but 
Fischer  was  bound  to  say  what  he'd  come  for. 

"I  suppose  it's  none  of.  my  business,"  he  continued,  "but 
I've  tried  to  see  you  get  fair  play.  And  I  want  to  say 
this:  You  rush  in  to  fight  those  fellows  to-day,  as 
they'll  try  to  make  you,  and  you'll  regret  it.  That's  all. 
As  the  challenged  party  the  time  is  yours  to  name.  If  ^ou 
refuse  for  a  week  at  least,  I'll  back  you  up  and  see  that 
it's  all  right,  and  if  you  don't  you'll  wish  you  had." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  which  sage  counsel  the 
dignified  captain  arose  to  go.  Perhaos  his  conscience 


A  Challenge.  347 

troubled  him  a  little  anyhow  that  he'd  stayed  so  long  in 
a  plebe  tent. 

He  thought  of  that  as  he  came  out  and  espied  three 
members  of  his  own  class  coming  down  the  street  and 
looking  at  him.  They  hailed  him  as  he  passed. 

"Hey,  Fischer!" 

They  were  three  who  had  been  the  "committee";  they 
were  a  committee  still,  but  for  a  different  purpose.  Their 
purpose  was  to  see  Fischer,  and  when  he  came  toward 
them,  they  led  him  off  to  one  side.  The  message  that 
committee  had  to  give  was  brief,  but  it  nearly  took  Fischer 
off  his  feet. 

"Fischer,"  said  one,  "the  fellows  have  decided  about 
that  Mallory  business." 

"Yes,"  said  Fischer.     "What?" 

"They've  decided  that  you'll  be  the  man  to  meet  him 
first." 

And  the  committee  wondered  what  was  the  matter  with 
Fischer. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

HE  COURAGE  TO   BE  A 

Something  which  happened  immediately  after  Fischer 
left  the  tent  effectually  drove  from  Mark's  mind  all  ideas 
of  fights  and  first  classmen.  It  was  the  blessed  long-ex- 
pected signal,  a  roll  upon  the  drum,  the  summons  to  fall 
in  for  the  evening's  dress  parade. 

And  oh,  how  those  plebes  were  "spruced  up!"  The 
four  members  of  the  Banded  Seven  who  roomed  in  Mark's 
tent  had  taken  turns  looking  over  each  other  in  the  effort 
to  find  a  single  flaw.  A  member  of  the  guard  trying  for 
colors  was  never  more  immaculate  than  those  anxious 
strangers.  Of  the  many  pair  of  duck  trousers  allotted 
to  each  cadet  every  pair  had  been  critically  inspected  so 
as  to  get  the  very  whitest.  Buttons  and  belt  plates  were 
little  mirrors,  and  every  part  of  guns  and  equipments 
shone.  When  those  four  "turned  out"  of  their  tent  they 
felt  that  they  were  worthy  of  the  ceremony. 

It  was  an  honor  to  be  in  the  battalion,  even  if  you  were 
in  the  rear  rank  and  could  see  nothing  all  the  time  but  the 
stiffly  marching  backs  in  front.  And  it  was  an  honor  to 


"I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward."  249 

have  your  name  called  next  to  a  first  classman's  on  the 
roll.  The  cadet  officer  had  known  the  roll  by  heart  and 
rattled  it  off  in  a  breath  or  two;  but  now  he  had  to  read 
it  slowly,  since  the  new  names  were  stuck  in,  which  both- 

u 

ered  him  if  it  did  delight  the  plebes. 

It  was  a  grand  moment  when  each  plebe  answered  very 
solemnly  and  precisely  to  his  own;  and  another  grand 
moment  when  the  cadet  band  marched  down  the  long  line 
to  its  place;  and  another  when  the  cadet  adjutant  turned 
the  parade  over  to  the  charge  of  the  officer  in  command ; 
and  finally,  last  of  all,  the  climax,  when  the  latter  faced 
about  and  gave  the  order,  "Forward,  march !"  when  the 
band  struck  up  a  stirring  tune  and  amid  waving  of  flags 
and  of  handkerchiefs  from  hundreds  of  spectators,  the  all- 
delighted  plebes  strode  forward  on  parade  at  last. 

How  tremblingly  and  nervously  he  stepped !  How  gin- 
gerly and  cautiously  he  went  through  the  manual  of  arms ! 
And  with  what  a  gasp  of  relief  he  finally  broke  ranks  at 
the  sunset  gun  and  realized  that  actually  he  had  gotten 
out  of  it  without  a  blunder! 

Then  they  marched  him  down  to  supper.  Formerly  the 
plebes  had  marched  dejectedly  in  the  rear  and  sat  over  in 
an  obscure  corner  of  the  room.  That  had  its  advantages, 


250  "I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward." 

however,  for  he  did  not  have  to  pour  the  water  and  wait 
till  everybody  else  was  helped,  and  he  was  not  subject 
quite  so  much  to  the  merry  badinage  of  the  merciless 
yearling.  On  the  whole  he  was  rather  glad  when  supper 
was  over  and  after  marching  back  to  camp  was  dismissed 
for  that  day  at  last. 

Mark  and  his  chum,  who  as  we  have  seen  were  now  in- 
terested in  nothing  quite  so  much  as  sleep,  or  lack  of  it, 
made  for  their  tents  immediately  to  go  to  bed.  But  once 
more  the  fates  were  against  them,  for  scarcely  had  they 
entered  the  door  before  another  cadet  rushed  in.  It  was 
the  excited  first  captain,  and  he  was  in  such  a  hurry  that 
he  had  not  even  stopped  to  remove  his  sword  and  sash,  the 
remnants  of  "parade."  He  bore  the  news  that  the  com- 
mittee had  imparted  to  him ;  and  its  effect  upon  Mallory 
may  be  imagined. 

"Fight  you,"  he  gasped.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  man, 
you're  wild." 

"I'm  as  serious  as  I  ever  was  in  my  life,"  replied  the 
other.  "The  committee  from  the  class  told  me  just  be- 
fore parade." 

"What  on  earth  made  them  select  you?" 

"I  don't  know,"  groaned  Fischer.    "I  had  a  couple  of 


"I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward."  251 

fights  here — I  whipped  Wright,  the  man  you  knocked  out 
the  time  when  the  class  attacked  you  so  disgracefully. 
And  they  seem  to  think  I'd  stand  the  most  chance,  at 
least  that's  what  the  committee  said." 

"And  what  did  you  tell  them?"  inquired  Mark,  in  . 
alarm. 

"Tell  them?  I  haven't  told  them  anything  yet.  I  was 
too  horrified  to  say  a  word.  I've  come  over  to  see  you 
about  it.  I'm  in  a  terrible  fix." 

"Well,  refuse,  that's  all." 

"I  can't!" 

"But  why  not?"  demanded  Mark. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  protested  the  other,  "you  don't  un- 
derstand how  the  class  feels  about  such  things.  I'm  a 
member  of  it,  and  when  I'm  called  upon  to  defend  the 
class  honor  I  daren't  say  no.  When  you  have  been  here 
as  long  as  I  have  you'll  understand  how  the  cadets  would 
take  it.  They'd  be  simply  furious." 

"Then  do  you  mean,"  gasped  the  other,  staring  at  him 
in  consternation,  "that  I'm  expected  to  fight  you?" 

"I  don't  see  what  else,"  responded  the  captain,  reluc- 
tantly. "What  can  I  tell  the  class?  If  I  simply  say  that 


252  "I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward." 

I've  been  rather  friendly  with  you,  they'll  say  I  had  no 
business  to  be.  And  there  you  are." 

"No  business  to  be,"  echoed  Mark,  thoughtfully,  .gaz- 
ing  into  space.  "No  business  to  be !  Because  I'm  a  plebe, 
I  suppose.  And  I've  got  to  fight  you !" 

"What  else  are  we  to  do,"  protested  the  other.  "I'm 
sure  I  shan't  mind  if  you  whip  me,  which  you  probably 
will." 

"Whip  you !"  cried  Mark ;  he  had  sprung  to  his  feet,  his 
hands  clinched.  And  then  without  another  word  he  faced 
about  and  fell  to  striding  up  and  down  the  tent,  the  other 
watching  him  anxiously. 

"Mr.  Fischer,"  he  demanded  suddenly,  without  looking 
at  the  other,  "suppose  I  refuse  to  fight  you  ?" 

"Don't  think  of  it !"  cried  Fischer,  in  horror. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  would  be  sneered  at  by  the  whole  corps. 
Because  they  would  call  you  a  coward  and  insult  you  as 
one,  cut  you  dead !  You  could  not  stand  it  one  week." 

"What  else?"  inquired  Mark,  calmly. 

"What  else !  What  else  could  there  be !  For  Heaven's 
sake,  man,  I  won't  have  it !  I  couldn't  make  the  class  un- 


"I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward."  253 

derstand  the  reason.  You'd  be  an  outcast  all  the  time  you 
were  here." 

'Is  that  all?" 

"Yes." 

And  Mark  turned  and  gazed  at  the  other,  his  brown 
eyes  flashing. 

"Mr.  Fischer,"  he  began,  extending  his  hands  to  the 
other,  "let  me  tell  you  what  I  have  thought  of  you.  You 
have  been  the  one  friend  I  have  had  in  this  academy  out- 
side of  my  own  class  and  Wicks  Merritt;  you  have  been 
1  the  one  man  who  has  had  the  fairness  to  give  me  my 
rights,  the  courage  to  speak  for  me.  I  have  not  always 
taken  your  advice,  but  I  have  always  respected  you  and 
admired  you.  And,  more  than  that,  I  owe  my  presence 
here  to  you." 

Mark  paused  a  moment,  while  his  thoughts  went  back  to 
the  time. 

"I  had  enemies,"  he  continued  at  last,  slowly,  "and 
they  had  me  in  their  power.  They  had  persuaded  the 
superintendent  that  I  was  a  criminal,  and  I  looked  for 
nothing  but  disgrace.  And  it  was  you,  then,  and  you  only 
of  all  the  cadets  of  this  academy,  who  had  honor  and  the 
courage  to  help  Texas  prove  my  innocence.  And  that  debt 


254  "I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward." 

of  gratitude  is  written  where  it  can  never  be  effaced.  My 
debt  to  you !  And  now  they  want  me  to  fight  you !" 

The  captain  shifted  uneasily. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  began,  "I  can  stand  it." 

"It  is  not  for  you  to  stand,"  said  Mark.  "It  is  for  me. 
It  is  I  who  owe  the  debt,  and  I  shall  not  pay  it  with 
blows.  Mr.  Fischer,  I  shall  not  fight  you." 

"But  what  will  you  do?  You  will  be  reviled  and  in- 
sulted as  a  coward." 

"Yes,"  said  Mark,  firmly ;  "I  will.  But  as  I  once  told 
Texas,  there  are  a  few  things  worse  than  being  called  a 
coward,  and  one  of  them  is  being  one." 

"I  know,"  protested  Fischer.    "But  then " 

"There  are  times,"  Mark  continued,  without  heeding 
him,  "times,  I  say,  when  to  fight  is  wrong." 

"Yes !"  cried  the  other.    "This  is  one." 

"It  is,"  said  Mark.  "And  at  such  times  it  takes  more 
courage  not  to  fight  than  to  fight.  When  an  army  goes 
out  to  battle  for  the  wrong  the  brave  man  stays  at  home. 
That  is  a  time  when  it  takes  courage  to  be  a  coward.  And 
Mr.  Fischer " 

Mark  took  the  other  by  the  hand  and  met  his  gaze. 

"Mr.  Fischer,  I  have  the  courage  to  be  a  coward." 


"I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward. "  255 

There  was  silence  after  that,  except  for  a  muttered 
"Oh !"  from  Texas.  Mark  had  said  his  say,  and  Fischer 
could  think  of  nothing. 

"Mr.  Mallory,"  he  demanded  at  last,  "suppose  you  let 
me  do  the  refusing?" 

"It  would  be  best  for  me  to  do  it,"  said  Mark,  with  de- 
cision. "Disgrace  would  be  unbearable  for  you.  You 
have  your  duty  to  your  class ;  I  have  no  duty  to  any  one 
but  myself.  And  moreover,  I  am  a  plebe,  cut  by  every- 
body already  and  pledged  to  fight  every  one.  To  fight 
them  a  few  times  more  will  not  hurt.  And  I  really  like  to 
defy  them.  So  just  leave  it  to  me." 

That  was  the  end  of  the  talk.  Fischer  sat  and  looked 
at  Mark  a  few  moments  more,  feeling  an  admiration  he 
did  not  try  to  express.  But  when  he  arose  to  go  the  ad- 
miration was  in  the  grip  of  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Mallory,"  he  said.  "You  do  not  realize  what  you 
attempt.  But  you  may  rest  assured  of  one  thing.  I  shall 
never  forget  this,  never  as  long  as  I  live.  Good-night." 

And  as  the  captain's  figure  strode  up  the  street  Mark 
turned  and  put  his  hands  on  Texas'  shoulders. 

"Old  fellow,"  said  he,  "and  have  you  any  courage?" 

"Say,"  protested  Texas,  solemnly,  "I'll  fight " 


256  "I  Have  the  Courage  to  Be  a  Coward." 

"I  don't  mean  that  kind  of  courage/'  said  Mark.  "I 
mean  courage  of  the  eye,  and  the  heart.  Courage  of  the 
mind  that  knows  it's  right  and  cares  for  nothing  else.  I 
mean  the  courage  to  be  called  a  coward  ?" 

"I  dunno,"  stammered  Texas,  looking  uneasy.  Poor 
Texas  had  never  thought  of  that  kind  of  courage.  "I 
ain't  very  sho',"  he  said,  "  'bout  lettin'  anybody  call  me  a 
coward." 

"That  is  what  I  mean  to  do,"  said  Mark.  "I  mean  to 
let  them  call  it,  and  look  them  in  the  eye  and  laugh.  And 
we'll  see  what  comes  of  it.  I  won't  fight  Fischer,  and 
they  can't  make  me.  The  more  they  taunt  me,  the  better 
I'll  like  it.  When  they  get  through  perhaps  I'll  get  a 
chance  to  show  them  how  much  of  a  coward  I  am." 

With  which  resolution  Mark  turned  away  and  prepared 
for  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MARK,    THE    COWARD. 

The  taunting  of  which  Mark  spoke  with  such  grim  and 
quiet  determination  was  soon  to  begin ;  in  fact,  he  was  not 
destined  to  lie  down  for  that  night  of  rest  without  a  taste 
of  it.  He  had  barely  removed  the  weight  of  his  uniform 
jacket,  with  its  collar  fastened  inside,  before  he  heard  a 
sound  of  voices  near  his  tent. 

He  recognized  them  instantly;  it  was  the  "committee," 
and  a  moment  later,  in  response  to  his  invitation,  the  three 
first  classmen  entered,  bowing  most  courteously  as  usual. 

"Mr.  Mallory,"  said  the  spokesman,  "I  have  come,  if 
you  will  pardon  my  disturbing  you,  to  deliver  to  you  the 
decision  of  our  class." 

"Yes,"  said  Mark,  simply.    "Well?" 

It  was  evident  that  Fischer  had  not  seen  them,  and  that 
they  suspected  nothing.  "A  storm  was  brewing.  Mark 
gritted  his  teeth. 

"It  might  just  as  well  come  now  as  any  time,"  he 
thought.  "Steady!" 


258  Mark,  the  Coward 

"The  class  will  send  a  man  to  meet  you  this  evening  in 
Fort  Clinton,"  said  the  cadet. 

"Ah,"  responded  Mark.  "Thank  you.  And  who  is  the 
man?" 

"He  is  the  captain  of  your  company,  Mr.  Fischer.  And 
that  is  about  all,  I  believe." 

"It  is  not  all,"  observed  Mark,  very  quietly;  and  then, 
as  the  other  turned  in  surprise,  he  clinched  his  fists.  "I 
refuse  to  fight  Mr.  Fischer,"  he  said. 

"Refuse  to  fight  him?" 

The  three  gasped  it  all  at  once,  in  a  tone  of  amazement 
that  cannot  be  shown  on  paper. 

"And  pray,"  added  the  spokesman,  "why  do  you  refuse 
to  fight  Mr.  Fischer?" 

"My  reasons,"  said  Mark,  "are  my  own.  I  never  try  to 
justify  my  conduct  to  others.  I  simply  refuse  to  fight  Mr. 
Fischer.  I'll  fight  any  other  man  you  send." 

"You'll  fight  no  one  else!"  snapped  the  cadet.  "Mr. 
Fischer  is  the  choice  of  the  class.  If  you  refuse  to  meet 
him,  and  give  no  reason,  it  can  only  be  because " 

"Because  you  know  he's  too  good  a  man  for  you !"  put 
in  one  of  the  others.  "Because  you're  afraid  of  him  I" 


Mark,  the  Coward.  259 

Mark  never  winced  at  that;  he  gave  the  man  a  look 
straight  in  the  eye. 

"There  are  some  people,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  afraid  of. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  you." 

The  cadet's  face  turned  scarlet,  and  he  clinched  his  fists 
angrily. 

"You  shall  pay  for  that,"  he  cried.    "You " 

But  the  spokesman  of  the  committee  seized  him  and 
forced  him  back. 

"Shut  up,  old  man,"  he  exclaimed.  "Don't  you  see 
what  he's  trying  to  do.  He's  afraid  of  Fischer,  and  he's 
trying  to  force  a  fight  with  some  one  else.  He's  a  dirty 
coward,  so  let  him  alone." 

Mark  heard  that  plainly,  but  he  never  moved  a  muscle. 
It  was  too  much  for  our  tinder-box  Texan,  however; 
Texas  had  been  perspiring  like  a  man  ii:  a  torture  chamber 
during  this  ordeal,  and  just  then  he  leaped  forward  with  a 
yell. 

"You  ole  white-faced  coyote,  you,  doggone  your  boots, 
I'll " 

"Texas!"  said  Mark,  in  his  quiet  way. 

And  Texas  shut  up  like  an  angry  oyster  and  went  back 
into  the  corner. 


260  Mark,  the  Coward. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Mark,  "I  think  our  interview 
is  at  an  end.  You  understand  my  point.  And  that  is  all." 

"And  as  for  you,"  retorted  the  other.    "Do  you  under- 
stand your  position  ?    You  will  be  branded  by  the  cadets 
as  a  coward.    You  will  fight  Fischer  as  sure  as  the  class  , 
can  make  you.    And  you  will  fight  no  one  else,  either,  until 
you  fight  him." 

Mark  bowed. 

"And  you'll  allow  me  to  express  my  opinion  of  you 
right  here,"  snapped  the  insulted  one,  who  was  going  to 
fight  a  moment  ago.  "You  needn't  get  angry  about  it, 
either,  because  you've  no  redress  till  you  fight  Fischer. 
You're  a  coward,  sir!  Your  whole  conduct  since  you 
came  here  has  been  one  vulgar  attempt  to  put  up  a  bluff 
with  nothing  to  back  it.  And  you  lack  the  first  instincts 
of  a  gentleman,  most  of  all,  sir,  because  you'll  swallow 
such  insults  from  me  instead  of  fighting,  and  taking  the 
licking  you've  earned.  You  can't  fight  me  till  you've 
fought  Fischer." 

"Can't,  hey!     Say,  d'  you  think  I'm  a-goin'  to  stan'  * 
fich " 

"Texas!" 

And  once  more  there  was  quiet,  at  the  end  of  which  the 


Mark,  the  Coward.  261 

indignant  committee  faced  about  without  a  word  and 
marched  out  in  disgust. 

"He's  not  worth  fooling  with,"  said  the  spokesman,  au- 
dibly. "He's  a  coward." 

After  which  Mark  turned  to  Texas  and  smiled. 

"That  was  the  first  dose,  old  man,"  said  he.  "How  did 
you  like  it?y 

From  Texas  lace  ne  liked  it  about  as  well  as  a  mouth* 
ful  of  quinine,  and  if  Texas  hadn't  been  very,  very  sleepy 
he  would  probably  have  lain  awake  all  night  growling  like 
an  irate  volcano,  and  wondering  how  Mark  could  snore 
away  so  happily  while  such  things  were  happening. 

Though  Mark  slept,  there  were  no  end  of  others  who 
didn't  sleep  on  account  of  him.  The  committee,  just  as 
soon  as  they  had  gotten  outside,  had  rushed  off  to  tell  the 
story  of  "Mallory's  flunk,"  and  pretty  soon  'there  were 
groups  of  first  classmen  and  yearlings  standing  about  the 
camp  indignantly  discussing  the  state  of  affairs.  There 
were  various  opinions  -and  theories,  but  only  one  conclu- 
sion: 

That  plebe  Mallory's  a  coward ! 

Fischer  was  not  there  to  gainsay  it,  he  being  absent  on 
duty,  and  so  the  cadets  had  no  one  to  shed  any  light  on 


262  Mark,  the  Coward. 

the  matter,  which  they  continued  to  rave  about  right  up 
to  the  time  for  tattoo.  The  first  class  was  so  worked  up 
over  it  that  there  was  an  impromptu  meeting  gathered  to 
discuss  it  just  outside  of  the  camp. 

The  angry  mob  was  reduced  to  an  orderly  meeting  a 
little  later  by  the  president  of  the  class,  who  appeared  on 
the  scene  and  called  the  cadets  to  order  to  discuss  ways 
and  means  of  "swamping  Mallory."  For  every  one  agreed 
that  something  ought  to  be  done  that  very  night.  As  has 
been  stated,  they  never  dispersed  until  the  very  moment 
of  tattoo;  by  that  time  they  had  their  campaign  mapped 
out.  It  was  a  very  unpleasant  programme  for  poor  Mark. 

He  had  to  dress  and  turn  out,  of  course,  at  tattoo  to 
answer  to  his  name  before  he  retired  for  the  night.  Not 
a  word  was  said  to  him  then ;  yet  he  could  see  by  the  angry 
looks  and  frowns  he  met  with  that  the  story  of  his  con- 
duct was  abroad.  But  Mark  had  not  the  least  idea  of 
what  was  coming,  and  he  went  back  to  his  tent  and  fell 
asleep  again  in  no  time. 

It  is  an  old,  old  story,  an  old,  old  incident.  To  tell  it 
again  would  weary  the  reader.  That  night  a  dozen  men, 
chosen  by  the  class  for  their  powerful  build,  instead  of  go- 
ing to  sleep  when  taps  sounded,  lay  awake  and  waited  till 


Mark,  the  Coward.  263 

the  camp  got  quiet.  They  waited  till  the  tac  had  gone 
the  rounds  with  his  lantern,  and  then  to  his  tent  for  the 
night.  They  waited  till  the  sentry's  call  had  been  heard 
for  the  fourth  time  since  taps. 

"Twelve  o'clock  and  airs  we-ell!" 

They  they  got  up  and  dressed  once  more,  and  stole  si- 
(ently  out  into  the  darkness  of  the  night.  Outside,  in  the 
company  street,  they  met  and  had  a  whispered  consulta- 
tion, then  surrounded  a  certain  "plebe  hotel"  and  finally 
stole  away  in  triumph,  bearing  four  helpless  plebes  along 
with  them.  A  while  later  they  had  passed  the  sentry  and 
had  their  victims  bound  and  gagged,  lying  in  a  lonely 
corner  of  old  Fort  Qinton. 

The  cadets  thought  four  would  be  enough  that  night. 
They  meant  to  give  those  plebes  the  worst  licking  they 
had  ever  had  in  their  lives.  That  would  be  a  pretty  se- 
vere one,  especially  for  Mallory,  who  had  been  roughly 
handled  before.  But  the  first  classmen  had  agreed  among 
themselves  that  there  was  no  call  for  mercy  here. 

The  reader  may  perhaps  wish  to  be  spared  the  details 
of  the  preparation.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  those  heavily 
bound  unfortunates  were  stretched  out  upon  the  ground, 
that  their  backs  were  bared,  and  then  that  the  four  brawn- 


264  Mark,  the  Coward. 

iest  of  the  desperate  cadets  took  four  pieces  of  rope  in 
their  hands  and  stepped  forward.  It  was  estimated  that 
when 'they  stepped  back  those  four  plebes  would  be  in  a 
more  docile  mood  than  previously. 

A  dead  silence  had  fallen  upon  the  group ;  it  had  in- 
creased  in  numbers  every  moment,  for  other  cadets  had 
stolen  out  to  see  what  was  being  done.  And  just  then 
every  one  of  them  was  leaning  forward 'anxiously,  staring 
at  Mallory,  for  nobody  cared  anything  much  about  the 
other  three,  whether  they  were  attended  to  or  not.  It  was 
Mallory,  the  coward,  against  whom  all  the  hatred  was; 
Mallory,  whom  the  biggest  man  had  been  deputed  to  at- 
tend to.  All  the  other  "executioners"  were  waiting,  lean- 
ing forward  anxiously  to  see  how  Mallory  took  it. 

The  cadet  who  held  the  rope  seized  it  in  a  firm  grip,  and 
swung  it  about  his  head.  A  moment  later  it  came  down 
through  the  air  with  a  whirr.  It  struck  the  white  flesh  of 
the  helpless  plebe  with  a  thud  that  made  the  crowd  shud- 
der. A  broad  red  streak  seemed  to  leap  into  view,  and 
the  victim  quivered  all  over.  The  cadet  raised  the  lash 
once  more  and  once  more  brought  it  down ;  and  again  an 
instant  later. 


Mark,  the  Coward  265 

The  end  of  it  came  soon,  fortunately ;  and  it  came  with- 
out waiting  the  wish  of  the  *hazers." 

Once  before  that  game  had  been  tried  on  Mallory,  then 
by  the  infuriated  yearlings.  An  alarm  from  camp  had 
interrupted  it  at  an  .earlier  stage.  And  'that  happened  „ 
again.  This  time  there  broke  upon  the  stillness  of  the 
midnight  air  the  sharp  report  of  a  gun.  It  came  from 
nearby,  too,  and  it  brought  no  end  of  confusion  with  it, 
confusion  that  will  be  told  of  later. 

As  to  the  hazers,  they  glanced  at  each  other  in  conster- 
nation. That  gun  would  awaken  the  camp!  And  they 
would  be  discovered !  There  was  not  a  second  to  lose ! 

In  a  trice  the  four  plebes  were  cut  loose,  left  to  get 
back  to  their  tent  as  best  they  could ;  and  a  few  moments 
later  a  mob  of  hurrying  figures  dashed  past  the  sentry  and 
into  Camp  McPherson,  which  they  found  in  an  uproar. 
The  hazing  of  Mallory  was  over  for  that  night  beyond  a 
doubt. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

A    TEST    OF    COURAGE. 

The  story  of  the  sacred  geese  that  saved  the  city  of 
Rome  is  known  to  every  schoolboy.  Not  so  long  ago  the 
classic  Parson,  of  the  Banded  Seven,  told  of  a  spider  who 
saved  the  life  of  Bruce  the  Scot,  by  building  a  web  over 
the  entrance  of  the  log  he  hid  in.  As  life-savers,  dogs 
and  even  horses  are  famous,  too,  but  it  is  left  to  the  his- 
torian of  these  pages  to  tell  of  how  a  rescue  was  effected 
by  a  mouse. 

Perhaps  you  think  to  be  told  it  was  a  mouse  who  fired 
that  gun  and  saved  Mark.  Well,  in  a  sense  it  was  true. 

The  mouse  who  is  our  hero  lived  in  the  West  Point 
Hotel,  situated  a  very  short  way  beyond  the  camp.  And 
the  tale  of  his  deed,  unlike  the  mouse's  tail,  is  a  very  short 
one.  It  was  simply  that  some  one  left  a  box  of  matches 
t  upon  a  table  in  the  kitchen,  and  that  the  mouse  got  after 
those  matches.  There  you  have  it. 

Some  of  them  fell  to  the  floor,  and  the  mouse  went 
after  them.  He  bit  one,  after  the  fashion  of  inquisitive 
mice ;  then,  scared  at  the  result,  turned  and  scampered  off 


A  Test  of  Courage.  267 

in  haste.  Inquisitive  persons  sometimes  make  no  end  of 
trouble. 

There  was  a  piece  of  paper  near  the  match,  and  then 
more  paper,  and  the  leg  of  the  table.  There  was  also 
plenty  of  time  and  no  one  to  interfere.  Every  one  who 
was  in  that  building,  except  the  clerks  and  the  watchman 
in  the  office,  was  sleeping  soundly  by  that  time  of  night, 
and  so  the  small  crackling  fire  was  in  no  hurry.  It  crept 
up  the  leg  of  the  table,  its  bright  forked  tongues  dancing 
about  gayly  as  it  did  so.  Then  it  leaped  over  to  a  curtain 
at  the  window,  and  then  still  more  swiftly  to  the  window 
frame,  and  still  there  was  no  one  to  see  it. 

Quietly  at  rest  in  that  hotel,  and  unsuspecting,  were 
some  dozens  of  guests,  including  one  that  interests  us 
above  all  others,  Grace  Fuller.  Her  room  was  now  on 
the  top  floor  of  the  hotel,  and  in  the  corner  of  the  building 
that  was  fast  getting  warm  and  choking. 

It  is  a  horrible  thing,  the  progress  of  a  fire  through  the 
still  watches  of  the  night.  Creeping  ahead  and  crackling 
it  goes,  so  slowly  and  yet  with  such  deadly  and  inevitable 
purpose.  It  has  been  called  a  devouring  fiend;  it  has 
greedy  tongues  that  steal  on  and  lick  up  everything,  and 
grow  hungrier  and  more  savage  as  they  feed.  And  it 


268  A  Test  of  Courage 

breathes  forth  volumes  of  deep  black  poison  tnat  stupefy 
its  victims  till  it  comes  to  seize  them. 

The  unguarded  kitchen  of  the  hotel  was  soon  a  roaring 
furnace,  and  then  the  fire  crept  out  into  the  hall,  and  as 
the  glass  of  the  windows  cracked  and  a  rush  of  fresh  air 
fanned  in,  the  flames  leaped  up  the  staircase  as  if  it  had 
been  the  chimney,  and  then  spread  through  the  parlor,  and 
on  upward^  farther  and  farther  still.  And  how  were  peo- 
ple to  get  down  those  stairs  if  they  did  not  hurry  about  it  ? 

The  people  were  not  thinking  of  that;  they  were  not 
even  beginning  to  have  bad  dreams  until  the  smoke  got 
just  a  little  thicker,  until  the  halls  outside  got  just  a  little 
hotter,  until  the  fire  had  moved  on  from  the  basement  to 
the  ground  floor,  and  from  the  ground  floor  to  the  next 
above.  And  even  then  they  were  not  destined  to  discover 
it.  That  task  was  left  to  some  one  else. 

It  was  a  sentry,  a  sentry  of  the  regular  army,  facing  the 
walk  called  Professor's  Row.  That  sentry  had  no  busi- 
ness to  leave  his  post,  but  he  did  it  none  the  less,  and 
dashed  across  the  street  to  look,  as  he  caught  sight  of 
that  unusual  glare  from  the  windows  of  the  old  hotel. 
An  instant  later  he  had  swung  up  his  musket  to  his  shoul- 
der, snapped  back  the  trigger,  and  then  came  the  roar  of 


A  Test  of  Courage.  269 

the  gun  that  the  startled  cadets  had  heard  from  the  deep 
recesses  of  the  fort. 

The  sentry,  the  instant  he  had  fired,  lowered  the  gun, 
snapped  out  the  cartridge,  and  slid  in  another  to  fire 
again.  Before  the  camp  had  gotten  its  eyes  open  a  third 
report  had  come  also,  the  dreaded  signal  of  fire.  The 
sentry  had  done  his  duty  then,  and  he  set  out  once  more 
to  march  back  and  forth  upon  his  post. 

The  wild  excitement  that  ensued  it  is  impossible  to  pic- 
ture; everything  in  camp  was  moving  and  shouting  at 
once.  Lieutenant  Allen,  the  tac  of  Company  A,  on  duty 
for  the  night,  had  leaped  from  his  bed  at  the  first  bang, 
and  from  his  tent  at  the  second.  His  yell  for  the  drum  or- 
derly brought  that  youngster  out  flying,  and  the  third  re- 
port of  the  gun  was  echoed  by  a  rattle  of  drums  that 
seemed  never  to  stop.  It  was  the  dreaded  "long  roll." 

Cadets  sleep  in  their  underclothing,  like  firemen,  ready 
for  just  such  an  emergency  as  this.  They  were  springing 
into  their  clothing  before  they  were  entirely  awake,  and 
rushing  out  to  form  in  the  company  street  before  they 
were  half  in  their  clothing.  Those  who  had  been  into 
Fort  Clinton  were  the  first  in  line,  and  as  the  others  fol- 
lowed they  heard  the  cadet  adjutant  rattling  through  the 


270  A  Test  of  Courage. 

list  of  names,  and  Lieutenant  Allen  shouting  orders  as  if 
trying  to  drown  the  other's  mighty  voice.  And  above  it 
all  rang  shrieks  and  cries  from  the  now  awakened  in- 
mates of  the  building,  the  glare  of  the  fire  shining  through 

I 

the  trees. 

It  was  the  matter  of  but  a  minute  or  two  for  the  com- 
pany fire  battalion  to  be  out  and  ready  for  duty.  But  at 
such  times  as  these  seconds  grow  to  hours.  Fischer,  out 
of  his  tent  among  the  first,  and  quick  to  think,  spoke  a 
few  words  to  the  lieutenant,  and  at  his  nod  dashed  on 
ahead  with  the  cadets  from  the  guard  tent  at  his  heels. 
And  it  is  Fischer  we  must  follow  now. 

Things  were  happening  with  frightful  rapidity  just 
then.  Fischer  and  his  little  command,  when  they  got 
there,  found  that  fully  half  the  occupants  of  the  place  had 
managed  to  get  out  already.  They  had  gotten  a  ladder 
and  were  raising  it  to  the  piazza,  roof.  Up  that  ladder 
the  cadets  rushed,  and  then  raised  it  after  them  and  put 
it  up  to  the  next  floor  and  sped  on,  Into  the  smoke-laden 
rooms  they  dashed,  and  through  the  glaring  flames  in  the 
halls,  pausing  at  nothing,  hearing  nothing  but  the  ringing 
commands  of  their  leader.  There  was  work  for  the  mem- 
bers of  the  guard  detail  that  night,  and  glory  for  Fischer. 


A  Test  of  Courage.  271 

They  were  still  at  work  helping  women  and  children 
out  when  the  battalion  put  in  an  appearance,  coming  on 
the  double-quick  with  a  cheer  of  encouragement.  They 
bore  buckets  and  more  ladders,  and  behind  them,  still 
faster,  clattered  the  members  of  the  cavalry  company  of 
the  post.  The  two  bodies  reached  the  scene  at  about  the 
same  instant,  and  each  went  to  work  with  a  will. 

The  white  uniforms  of  the  cadets  shone  in  the  yellow 
glare  of  the  flames ;  there  were  some  pale  faces  staring 
into  that  light  and  some  trembling  knees.  But  there  was 
no  trembling  or  hesitating  among  the  officers  in  com- 
mand. They  had  the  pumps  working,  and  long  lines  of 
bucket  passers  formed  in  no  time.  Arid  there  were  lad- 
ders at  the  windows  and  details  of  cadets  searching  the 
smoke-laden  rooms. 

The  work  of  rescue  was  nearly  over,  however,  by  the 
time  the  battalion  got  there,  thanks  to  the  fearless  efforts 
of  the  first  captain's  prompt  little  band.  Fischer  had 
thought  all  were  out,  and  had  settled  down  to  emptying 
water  on  the  flames,  when  the  alarm  we  have  to  do  with 
was  given. 

It  came  from  a  white-haired  figure,  an  old  gentleman, 
who  rushed  up  breathless  and  panting  to  the  scene.  Every 


372  A  Test  of  Courage. 

one  recognized  him,  and  started  in  horror  as  they  heard 
his  cry.  It  was  Judge  Fuller. 

"My  daughter !  My  daughter !"  he  shrieked.  "Oh,  save 
her!" 

He  rushed  to  one  of  the  ladders,  about  to  spring  into  the 
very  center  of  the  flames.  Several  of  the  cadets  forced 
him  back,  and  at  the  same  instant  a  ringing  cheer  broke 
from  the  whole  battalion.  It  was  Fischer  once  more ;  he 
had  been  standing  on  the  roof  when  he  heard  the  cry,  and 
like  a  flash  he  had  turned  and  bounded  in  at  the  window. 
He  was  lost  then  to  view,  swallowed  up  in  the  smoke  and 
flames.  And,  scarcely  breathing,  the  crowd  outside  stood 
and  stared  at  the  windows  and  waited. 

Perhaps  you  'are  asking  what  of  Mark,  with  Grace 
Fuller,  the  joy  of  his  life,  in  peril.  Mark  was  down  in 
the  long  line,  passing  buckets  like  any  dutiful  plebe.  He 
had  heard  Judge  Fuller's  terrible  warning,  and  had  been 
quick  to  spring  forward.  But  the  watchful  "tac"  had  had 
his  eye  on  Mark,  knowing  his  friendship  for  the  girl. 
Lieutenant  Allen  did  not  mean  to  have  his  lines  broken  up 
in  that  way;  there  were  others  to  attend  to  that  rescue, 
and  he  ordered  Mallory  back  to  his  place  with  a  stern 
command  that  Mallory  dared  not  disobey.  Now  he  was 


A  Test  of  Courage.  273 

standing  like  a  warrior  in  chains  amid  the  battle's  roar, 
watching  with  the  rest,  and  trembling  with  horror  and 
dread. 

What  if  Fischer  should  fail— be  beaten  back?  What  if 
smoke  should  overcome  him,  and  he  should  sink  where 
he  was  ?  What  if  Grace  Fuller 

And  then,  oh,  how  he  did  gasp  for  joy!  And  what  a 
perfect  roar  of  triumph  rose  from  the  anxious  crowd. 
There  was  the  gallant  captain,  smoke-stained  and  stag- 
gering, standing  in  a  window  on  the  top  floor,  holding  in 
his  arms  a  figure  white  as  snow.  The  girl  was  safe! 

But  how  was  she  to  get  down? 

That  was  the  dreadful  thought  that  flashed  over  the 
trembling  cadet.  They  stood  irresolute,  and  so  did  the 
cadet  in  the  window,  hesitating  at  times  when  a  second 
might  mean  the  difference  between  lif?  and  death. 

And  yet  who  could  advise  him?  The  girl's  waving 
hair  and  dress  would  catch  at  the  slightest  flame;  to  try 
the  roaring  staircase  was  suicide.  Then  should  he  drop 
her?  The  crowd  shuddered  to  think  of  that,  yet  what 
else  could  he  do  ?  There  was  no  ladder  to  reach  halfway. 
He  must !  He  was  going  to ! 

Picture  the  state  of  Mark  Mallory's  mind  at  that  mo- 


274  A  Test  of  Courage. 

.merit.  Himself  helpless,  watching  Fischer  preparing  for 
that  horrible  deed.  He  saw  the  cadet  drag  a  half-blazing 
mattress  from  one  of  the  rooms,  laying  it  on  the  roof  be- 
low. He  heard  the  agonized  shriek  of  the  girl's  father,  he 
pictured  that  lovely  figure  perhaps  dying,  certainly  maimed 
for  life.  He  saw  Fischer  passing  the  body  through  the 
window,  his  figure  wreathed  in  smoke,  with  a  setting  of 
fire  behind.  And  then,  with  a  shout  that  was  a  perfect 
roar  of  command,  Mark  leaped  forward. 

"Stop!    Stop!" 

A  thousand  tacs  could  not  hold  him  then;  he  was  like 
a  wild  man.  He  saw  a  chance,  a  chance  that  no  one  dared. 
But  he — what  was  he,  compared  with  perfection,  Grace 
Fuller? 

He  fairly  tore  a  path  up  the  ladder. 

He  paused  but  an  instant  on  the  roof  of  the  piazza,  to 
shout  to  Fischer,  then  seized  in  his  hand  a  rope  that  some 
were  vainly  trying  to  toss  up  to  the  window.  That  rope 
Mark  took  in  his  teeth ;  ran  his  eye  up  the  long  rainspout 
on  the  wall ;  and  an  instant  later  gave  a  spring. 

"Take  care!"  shouted  one  of  the  cadets,  who  saw  his 
•  purpose.  "It's  hot !" 

Hot?    It  burned  his  hands  to  the  bone,  but  what  did 


A  Test  of  Courage.  275 

Mark  care  ?  Again  and  again  he  seized  it,  again  and  again 
with  his  mighty  arms  he  jerked  himself  upward,  gripping 
the  pipe  between  his  knees,  gripping  the  rope  like  death, 
higher  and  higher! 

How  the  crowd  gasped  and  trembled !  He  reached  the 
first  floor,  halfway.  He  might  have  climbed  that  on  a 
ladder,  if  he  had  only  thought.  But  it  was  too  late  now. 
On!  on!  The  smoke  curled  about  him  and  choked  him, 
hid  him  from  view;  bright  flames  leaped  out  from  the 
seething  windows  and  enveloped  him. 

"His  clothes  are  afire !"  shouted  one.    "Oh,  heavens !" 

Out  of  the  smoke  he  came.  Tongues  of  fire  were  start- 
ing at  his  trousers,  at  the  end  of  his  coat,  getting  larger, 
climbing  higher,  upon  him.  And  still  on  he  went,  his  flesh 
raw,  his  lungs  hot  and  dry,  his  strength  failing  him.  And 
ever  about  was  the  fluttering  of  white,  a  signal  of  dis- 
tress that  nerved  him  to  clutch  the  burning  iron  yet  once 
again. 

Fischer  was  leaning  from  the  window,  straining  every 
nerve,  almost  hanging  by  his  knees,  with  outstretched 
hands.  Mallory  was  climbing,  fainting,  almost  uncon- 
scious, still  gazing  up  and  gasping.  And  the  crowd  could 
not  make  a  move. 


276  A  Test  of  Courage. 

And  then  an  instant  later  it  was  over.  They  saw 
Fischer  give  a  sudden  convulsive  clutch  beneath  him; 
they  saw  the  gallant  plebe  totter  and  sway,  cling  an  in- 
stant more,  and  then,  without  uttering  a  sound,  plunge 
downward  like  a  flaming  shot  and  strike  with  a  thud  upon 
the  mattress  below.  But  Fischer  held  the  rope! 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE   FRUITS  OF   VICTORY. 

Grace  Fuller  was  safe  then,  and  everybody  knew  it. 
But  somehow  that  crowd  did  not  give  a  single  cheer ;  in 
fact,  every  one  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  she  and 
Fischer  were  there,  and  all  made  a  rush  for  Mallory. 

Fischer  fastened  the  rope  inside  the  building,  wrapped 
it  about  his  wrist,  took  the  unconscious  figure  in  his  one 
free  arm,  and  slid  swiftly  down  to  safety,  just  in  time  to 
see  the  flames  that  threatened  Mallory  extinguished  by  the 
cadets.  Grace  Fuller  was  unconscious,  so  she  knew  noth- 
ing of  this,  but  Fischer  did,  and  he  staggered  over  to- 
ward the  gallant  plebe. 

"How  is  he?"  he  cried.  "How  is  he?  Don't  tell  me 
he's " 

Fischer  hated  to  say  the  word,  but  as  he  stared  at  the 
motionless  figure  he  feared  that  it  was  true,  that  Mallory 
had  given  his  life  for  his  friends. 

A  surgeon  was  at  his  side  an  instant  later,  bending  over 
the  prostrate  form — Mallory  was  unconscious  and  nearly 
dead  from  exhaustion  and  pain  alone.  His  legs  were 


278  The  Fruits  of  Victory. 

burned  to  a  blister,  his  hands  were  a  sight  to  make  one 
sick.  As  to  the  fall,  who  could  say  ?  The  surgeon  shook 
his  head  sadly  as  he  got  up  and  called  for  a  stretcher  to 
^  carry  the  lad  down  to  the  hospital. 

That  incident  once  past  the  battalion  turned  its  ener- 
gies to  extinguishing  the  flames.  But  they  were  listless 
and  careless  energies  for  some  reason.  There  seemed  to 
be  something  on  the  battalion's  mind. 

A  guilty  conscience  is  a  poor  companion  for  any  work. 
And  the  thought  of  Mallory  and  what  he  had  done,  and 
what  they  had  done  to  him,  gave  the  cadets  a  very  guilty 
conscience  indeed. 

Those  who  had  taken  part  in  that  beating  were  the  most 
worried  and  unhappy  of  all,  for  they  had  done  something 
they  might  never  be  able  to  atone  for.  They  seemed  to 
hear  those  words  of  Mallory's — and  they  thought  of  how 
true  they  had  come — "Some  day  I  may  have  a  chance  to 
show  you  how  much  of  a  coward  I  am." 

They  got  the  fire  out  entirely  in  an  hour  or  two,  and 
then  sadly  the  corps  marched  back  to  the  silent  camp. 
There  was  a  noticeable  lack  of  satisfaction  one  might  have 
expected  to  see  after  the  weary  task  was  so  creditably 
performed.  The  thought  of  Mallory  was  a  weight  of  lead 


The  Fruits  of  Victory.  279 

upon  the  heart  of  every  one.  That  plebe  had  suddenly 
become  the  one  object  of  all  the  hopes  and  prayers  of  the 
corps. 

^  Groups  of  silent  lads  gathered  about  the  tents,  convers- 
ing in  low  and  subdued  whispers  when  they  said  anything 
at  all.  The  picture  of  Mallory's  figure  clinging  to  the  side 
of  that  burning  house  was  before  their  eyes  every  moment. 
Fischer  had  told  them  the  story  of  Mallory's  reasons  for 
daring  their  wrath,  and  his  news  put  the  plebe's  action  in 
quite  a  different  light.  It  made  the  cadets  yet  more  re- 
morseful for  their  cruelty. 

George  Elliot  has  remarked  that  "when  Death,  the 
great  Reconciler  comes,  it  is  not  our  leniency,  but  our 
harshness  we  repent  of." 

The  drug  sounded  taps  a  few  minutes  later  for  the  sec- 
ond time  that  night.  The  cadets  scattered  silently  to  their 
tents,  realizing  that  they  would  have  to  wait  until  the 
morrow  to  get  tidings  of  poor  Mallory's  fate. 

It  seemed,  however,  that  West  Point's  interest  in  the 
matter  was  so  great  that  even  military  rules  could  not 
stand  before  it.  The  cadets  had  scarcely  fallen  asleep 
again,  before  several  members  of  the  guard  went  from 
tent  to  tent  with  the  glad  tidings  from  the  hospital  that 


*8o  The  Fruits  of  Victory. 

Cadet  Mallory  and  Miss  Grace  Fuller  were  conscious  and 
would  surely  recover.  And  the  news  was  sent  by  order 
of  Lieutenant  Allen  himself. 

Two  days  later  Mark  was  lying  upon  a  bed  in  the 
cadet  hospital.  We  would  scarcely  have  known  Mark, 
to  look  at  him ;  his  face  was  pale  and  his  arm  trembled 
when  he  moved  it.  But  Mark  was  happy  for  all  that. 

He  was  reaping  the  fruits  of  his  bravery,  then.  He 
was  still  in  pain,  it  is  true;  any  one  who  has  ever  blis- 
tered one's  finger  with  fire  may  be  able  to  imagine  the 
feelings  Mark  got  from  those  two  bandaged  hands  of 
his.  But  he  had  forgotten  all  about  that  for  a  time. 

The  reason  for  that  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  sunlight 
as  it  streamed  into  that  room  was  reflected  from 
a  wealth  of  golden  hair  that  in  turn  lit  up 
Mark's  pale  features.  It  was  Grace  Fuller  who  was 
sitting  by  his  bedside;  and  Grace  Fuller  was  trying  to 
thank  him  for  what  he  had  done  for  her. 

Her  tone  was  low  and  earnest  as  she  spoke : 

"Mark,"  she  said — "I  have  never  called  you  Mark  be-  v 
fore,  but  I  will  now,  if  you  will  let  me — the  debt  I  owe 
to  you  I  can  never  repay;  but  if  true  friendship  is  any- 
thing you  may  have  that.    That  is  all  I  can  give." 


The  Fruits  of  Victory.  281 

Mark  answered  nothing;  but  he  gazed  at  the  girl 
earnestly. 

"This  is  the  second  time,"  continued  she,  "that  you 
have  been  in  this  hospital  for  me.  I  do  not  know  what 
others  think  of  it,  but  I  know  that  I  shall  never  forget 
it  as  long  as  I  live." 

Concerning  what  others  thought,  Grace  was  very 
speedily  to  learn.  It  is  necessary  to  interrupt  her  thank- 
ful words,  for  just  then  an  unpoetic  attendant  came  into 
the  room. 

"Mr.  Mallory,"  said  he,  "there  are  some  cadets  out- 
side who  want  to  see  you.  The  surgeon  says  that  they 
may " 

"Send  them  in,"  said  Mark,  weakly.  And  then  he 
added  to  Grace,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  a  smile :  "I  won- 
der if  they  want  me  to  fight." 

Grace  said  nothing  to  that,  but  her  eyes  flashed  for  a 
moment.  She  had  heard  the  story  of  how  the  cadets  had 
treated  Mark,  and  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  if  they 
had  anything  more  to  say  about  cowardice  she  was  going 
to  take  a  hand.  Grace  Fuller  had  her  own  ideas  on  the 
subject  of  cowards. 

The  cadets  entered  the  room  a  moment  later,  and  when 


282  The  Fruits  of  Victory. 

Mark  glanced  at  them  he  started  with  no  little  surprise. 
It  was  the  committee  from  the  first  class,  the  same  com- 
mittee that  had  been  taunting  him  a  few  days  previously. 

"Well,  gentlemen  ?"  said  Mark,  inquiringly. 

Evidently  the  cadets  had  an  embarrassing  task  before 
them.  They  had  sidled  into  the  room  rather  awkwardly, 
all  the  more  so  when  they  espied  Grace  Fuller's  beautiful 
face,  which  was  all  the  more  beautiful  for  its  present 
paleness. 

Once  in  the  room  they  had  backed  up  against  the  wall, 
eying  the  two  uneasily. 

"Ahem !"  said  the  spokesman. 

"Well?"  inquired  Mark  again. 

By  way  of  answer  the  spokesman  took  from  beneath 
his  jacket  a  folded  paper.  This  he  opened  before  him 
with  some  solemnity. 

"Mr.  Mallory,"  he  began — "ahem!  I  have  been  ap- 
pointed, together  with  my  two  classmates  here,  to — er — 
convey  to  you  the  following  notice  from  the  first  class." 

Here  the  spokesman  stopped  abruptly  and  shifted  un- 
easily. Mark  bowed,  as  well  as  he  could  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. 


The  Fruits  of  Victory.  283 

This  letter,"  continued  the  cadet,  "is  from  the  presi- 
dent of  the  class.  Listen,  please: 

"  'CADET  MALLORY,  West  Point : 

"  'DEAR  SIR  :  As  president  of  the  first  class  of  the  corps 
of  cadets  I  have  the  duty  and  pleasure  of  submitting  to 
you  the  following  set  of  resolutions  adopted  unanimously 
by  the  class  at  a  meeting  held  this  morning. 
"  'Respectfully  Yours, 

"  'GEORGE  T.  FISCHER, 
"  'Cadet  Captain,  Company  A.'  " 

After  that  imposing  document  the  spokesman  paused 
for  breath.  Mark  waited  in  silence.  When  the  cadet 
thought  that  there  had  been  suspense  enough  for  so  im- 
portant an  occasion  he  raised  the  paper  and  continued : 

"  'Whereas— 

"  'Cadet  Mallory  of  the  fourth  class  has  performed 
before  the  whole  academy  an  act  of  heroism  and  self- 
sacrifice  which  merits  immediate  and  signal  recognition, 

"  'Resolved— 

"  'That  the  class  hereby  desires,  botn  as  a  class  and  as 
individuals,  to  offer  to  Cadet  Mallory  their  sincere 
apology  for  all  offensive  remarks  addressed  to  him  under 
any  circumstances  whatsoever. 

"  That  the  class  hereby  expresses  the  greatest  regret 
for  all  attacks  made  by  it  upon  Cadet  Mallory. 

"  'That  the  class  hereby  extends  to  Cadet  Mallory  its 
assurance  of  respect. 

"  'And  that  the  president  of  the  class  be  requested  to 
forward  a  copy  of  these  resolutions  to  Cadet  Mallory  at 
once/  " 


284  The  Fruits  of  Victory. 

At  the  close  of  this  most  imposing  document  the  young 
cadet  folded  the  paper  and  put  it  away,  then  gazed  at 
Mark  with  a  what-more-do-you-want  ?  sort  of  air.  As 
for  Mark,  he  was  lying  back  on  his  pillow  gazing  into 
space  and  thinking. 

"That's  pretty  decent,"  he  observed,  meditatively ;  then 
he  raised  himself  up  and  gazed  at  the  three  quizzically. 

"Tell  the  first  class,"  said  he,  "that  I  cannot  make  much 
of  a  speech,  but  that  I  accept  their  apology  with  the  same 
sincerity  it's  given.  I  thank  them  for  their  regards,  and 
also  for  having  released  me  from  my  fighting  obligations. 
And  now,"  he  added,  "since  this  appears  to  be  a  time  of 
mutual  brotherly  love,  concession  and  reciprocity,  I  don't 
mind  taking  a  share  myself.  Tell  the  class  that  it's  very 
probable  that  when  I  join  them  again " 

Here  Mark  paused  in  order  to  let  his  important  an- 
nouncement have  due  weight. 

"I'll  try  to  be  a  little  less  B.  J.     Good-afternoon." 

"Say,  that  letter's  great!"  cried  Texas,  when  he  heard 
of  it.  "Whoop!  I  almost  feel  like  hurrahing  for  them 
old  first  classers." 

"It's  very  nice,"  said  the  Parson.  "Yea,  by  Zeus,  it's  all 
right." 


The  Fruits  of  Victory.  285 

"Couldn't  do  less,  b'gee!"  cried  Dewey.  "Mark 
shamed  'em  all,  b'gee." 

And  the  Banded  Seven  agreed — just  as  they  always 
did. 

THE  END. 


THE  CREAM  OF  JUVENILE  FICTION 

™   BOYS'  OWN 
LIBRARY^ 

A  Selection  of  the  Best  Books  for  Boys  by  the 
Most  Popular  Authors 

O^HE  titles  in  this  splendid  juvenile  series  have  been  selected 
\2/  with  care,  and  as  a  result  all  the  stories  can  be  relied 
upon  for  their  excellence.  They  are  bright  and  sparkling;  not 
over-burdened  with  lengthy  descriptions,  but  brimful  of  adven- 
ture from  the  first  page  to  the  last — in  fact  they  are  just  the 
kind  of  yarns  that  appeal  strongly  to  the  healthy  boy  who  is 
fond  of  thrilling  exploits  and  deeds  of  heroism.  Among  the 
authors  whose  names  are  included  in  the  Boys'  Own  Library 
are  Horatio  Alger,  Jr.,  Edward  S.  Ellis,  James  Otis,  Capt.  Ralph 
Bonehill,  Burt  L.  Standish,  Gilbert  Patten  and  Frank  H.  Con- 
verse. 


SPECIAL  FEATURES  OF  THE 
BOYS'  OWN  LIBRARY   j*    j* 

All  the  books  in  this  series  are  copyrighted,  printed  on  good 
paper,  large  type,  illustrated,  printed  wrappers,  handsome  cloth 
covers  stamped  in  inks  and  gold — fifteen  special  cover  designs. 

150  Titles— Price,  pet  Volume,  75  cents 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  pricp. 
ty  the  publisher, 

DAVID  McKAY, 

6JO  SO.  WASHINGTON  SQUARE,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 

(i) 


HORATIO  ALGER,  Jr. 

One  of  the  best  known  and  most  popular  writers.     Goodj  clean, 
neaithy  stories  for  the  American  Boy. 

Adventures  of  a  Telegraph  Boy  Mark  Stanton 

l>ean  Dunham  Ned  Newton 

Erie  Train  JBoy,  The  New  York  ?3ov 

Five  Hundred  Dollar  Check  Tom  Brace 

From  Canal  Boy  to  President  Tom  Tracy 

From  Farm  Boy  to  Senator  Walter  Griffith 

Backwoods  Boy,  The  Young  Acrobat 

C.  B.  ASHLEY. 

One  of  the  best  stories  ever  written  on  hunting,  trapping  and  ad' 
venture  in  the  West,  after  the  Custer  Massacre. 

Gilbert,  the  Boy  Trapper 


ASHMORE. 

A  splendid  story,  recording  the  adventures  of  a  boy  with  smugglers. 
Smuggler's  Cave,  The 

CAPX.  RALPH   BOXEHILL. 

Capt.  Bonehill  is  in  the  very  front  rank  as  an  author  of  boys' 
stories.  These  are  two  of  his  best  works. 

RTeka,  the  Boy  Conjurer  Tour  of  the  Zero  Club 

WALTER  F.  BRUXS. 

An  excellent  story  of  adventure  in  the  celebrated  Sunk  Lands  of 
Missouri  and  Kansas. 

In  the  Sunk  Lands 

FRAXK   H.  CONVERSE. 

This  writer  has  established  a  splendid  reputation  as  a  boys'  author, 
and  although  his  books  usually  command  $1.25  per  volume,  we  offer 
the  following  at  a  more  popular  price. 

Gold  of  Flat  Top  Mountain  In  Southern  Seas 

Happy-Go-Lucky  Jack  Mystery  of  a  Diamond 

Heir  to  a  Million  That  Treasure 

In  Search  of  An  Unknown  Bace  Voyage  to  the  Gold  Coast 

DAVID  JicKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(ii) 


ELARR1T  COULIIVGWOOD. 

One  of  England's  most  successful  writers  of  stories  for  boys.  His 
best  story  is 

Pirate  Island 

OBOROB  H.  COOMBR. 

Two  books  we  highly  recommend.  One  is  a  splendid  story  of  ad- 
venture at  sea,  when  American  ships  were  in  every  port  in  the  world, 
and  the  other  tells  of  adventures  while  the  first  railway  in  the  Andes 
Mountains  was  being  built. 

Boys  in  the  Forecastle  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain 


DAI/TOI*. 

Three  stories  by  one  of  the  very  greatest  writers  for  boys.  The 
stories  deal  with  boys'  adventures  in  India,  China  and  Abyssinia. 
These  books  are  strongly  recommended  for  boys'  reading,  as  they  con- 
tain a  large  amount  of  historical  information. 

Tiger  Prince  "War  Tiger 

"White  Elephant 

BDWARD  S.  BUUIS. 

These  books  are  considered  the  best  works  this  well-known  writei 
ever  produced.  No  better  reading  for  bright  young  Americans. 

Arthur  Helmuth  Perils  of  the  Jungle 

Check  No.  2134  On  the  Trail  of  Geronimo 

From  Tent  to  "White  House  White  Mustang 


OBOROB  MAXVHUUB 

For  the  past  fifty  years  Mr.  Fenn  has  been  writing  books  for  boys 
and  popular  fiction.  His  books  are  justly  popular  throughout  the 
English-speaking  world.  We  publish  the  following  select  list  of  his 
boys'  books,  which  we  consider  the  best  he  ever  wrote. 

Commodore  Junk  Golden  Magnet 

Dingo  Boys  Grand  Chaco 

"Weathercock 

EIVSIGIV  CLARKB  FITCH,  U.  S.  N. 

A  graduate  of  the  U.  S.  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis,  and  tho- 
roughly familiar  with  all  naval  matters.  Mr.  Fitch  has  devoted  him- 
self to  literature,  and  has  written  a  series  of  books  for  boys  that  every 

DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(iii) 


young  American  should  read.    His  stories  are  full  of  very  interesting 
information  about  the  navy,  training  ships,  etc. 

Bound  for  Annapolis  Cruise  of  the  Training  Ship 

Clif,  the  Naval  Cadet  From  Port  to  Port 

Strange  Cruise,  A 

WIULIAM    MURRAY   GRAYDO1S. 

An  author  of  world- wide  popularity.  Mr.  Graydon  is  essentially  a 
friend  of  young  people,  and  we  offer  herewith  ten  of  his  best  works, 
wherein  he  relates  a  great  diversity  of  interesting  adventures  in  various 
parts  of  the  world,  combined  with  accurate  historical  data. 

Butcher  of  Cawnpore,  The  In  Barracks  and  "Wigwam 

Camp  in  the  Snow,  The  In  Tort  and  Prison 

Campaigning  with  Braddock  Jungles  and  Traitors 

Cryptogram,  The  Rajah's  Fortress,  The 

From  Lake  to  Wilderness  White  King  of  Africa,  The 

L,IBUX.  FREDERICK   OARRISOTV,  U.  S.  A. 

Every  American  boy  takes  a  keen  interest  in  the  affairs  of  West 
Point.  No  more  capable  writer  on  this  popular  subject  could  be  found 
than  Lieut.  Garrison,  who  vividly  describes  the  life,  adventures  and 
unique  incidents  that  have  occurred  in  that  great  institution — in  these 
famous  West  Point  stories. 

OS  for  West  Point  On  Guard 

Cadet's  Honor,  A  West  Point  Treasure,  The 

West  Point  Rivals,  The 

HEADOT*    1IIIJU 

The  hunt  for  gold  has  always  been  a  popular  subject  for  considera- 
tion, and  Mr.  Hill  has  added  a  splendid  story  on  the  subject  in  this 
romance  of  the  Klondyke. 

Spectre  Gold 

HEXRY   HARRISOX   LEWIS. 

Mr.  Lewis  is  a  graduate  of  the  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis,  and 
has  written  a  great  many  books  for  boys.  Among  his  best  works  are 
the  following  titles— the  subjects  include  a  vast  series  of  adventures 
in  all  parts  of  the  world.  The  historical  data  is  correct,  and  they 
should  be  read  by  all  boys,  for  the  excellent  information  they  contain. 

Centreboard  Jim  Ensign  Merrill 

King  of  the  Island  Sword  and  Pen 

Midshipman  Merrill  Valley  of  Mystery.  The 

Yankee  Boys  in  Japan 

DAVID   McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(iv) 


I.OITNSBERRY. 

A  series  of  books  embracing  many  adventures  under  our  famous 
naval  commanders,  and  with  our  army  during  the  War  of  1812  and 
the  Civil  War.  Founded  on  sound  history,  these  books  are  written 
for  boys,  with  the  idea  of  combining  pleas-ire  with  profit ;  to  cutivate 
a  fondness  for  study — especially  of  what  has  been  accomplished  by 
our  army  and  navy. 

Cadet  Kit  Carey  Bandy,  the  Pilot 

Captain  Carey  Tom  Truxton's  School  Days 

Kit  Carey's  Protege  Tom  Truxton's  Ocean  Trip 

Lieut.  Carey's  Luck  Treasure  of  the  Golden  Crater 

Out  With  Commodore  Decatur  "Won  at  West  Point 


BROOKS  McCORMICK. 

Four  splendid  books  of  adventure  on  sea  and  land,  by  this  well- 
known  writer  for  boys. 

Giant  Islanders,  The  Nature's  Young  Nobleman 

How  He  Won  Rival  Battalions 


WAI/TER  MORRIS. 

This  charming  story  contains  thirty-two  chapters  of  just  the  sort  of 
school  life  that  charms  the  boy  readers. 

Bob  Porter  at  Lakeview  Academy 


STANUBY  MORRIS. 

Mr.  Norris  is  without  a  rival  as  a  writer  of  "Circus  Stories"  for 
boys.  These  four  books  are  full  of  thrilling  adventures,  but  good, 
wholsome  reading  for  young  Americans. 

Phil,  the  Showman  Young  Showman's  Pluck,  The 

Young  Showman's  Rivals,  The       Young  Showman's  Triumph 


JAMES  K.  ORTON. 

When  a  boy  has  read  one  of  Lieut.  Orton's  books,  it  requires  no 
urging  to  induce  him  to  read  the  others.  Not  a  dull  page  in  any  of 
them. 


Beaoh  Boy  Joe  8*°re*  Chart, 

Last  Chance  Mine  Tom  Havens  with  the  Whito 

Squadron 

DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(v) 


JAMBS  OTIS. 

Mr.  Otis  is  known  by  nearly  every  American  boy,  and  needs  no  in* 
troduction  here.     The  following  copyrights  are  among  his  best : 

Chased  Through  Norway  Unprovoked  Mutiny 

Inland  "Waterways  "Wheeling  for  Fortune 

Beuben  Green's  Adventures  at  Yale 


GILBERT  PATTEN. 

Mr.  Patten  has  had  the  distinction  of  having  his  books  adopted  by 
the  U.  S.  Government  for  all  naval  libraries  on  board  our  war  ship. 
While  aiming  to  avoid  the  extravagant  and  sensational,  the  stories 
contain  enough  thrilling  incidents  to  please  the  lad  who  loves  action 
and  adventure.  In  the  Kockspur  stories  the  description  of  their  Base- 
ball and  Football  Games  and  other  contests  with  rival  clubs  and  teams 
make  very  exciting  and  absorbing  reading  ;  and  few  boys  with  warm 
blood  in  their  veins,  having  once  begun  the  perusal  of  one  of  these 
books,  will  willingly  lay  it  down  till  it  is  finished. 

Boy  Boomers  Jud  and  Joe 

Boy  Cattle  King  Kockspur  Nine,  The 

Boy  from  the  "West  Kockspur  Eleven,  The 

Don  Kirke's  Mine  Kockspur  Kivals,  The 


ST.  GEORGE   RATMBORNE. 

Mr.  Eathborne's  stories  for  boys  have  the  peculiar  charm  of 
dealing  with  localities  and  conditions  with  which  he  is  thoroughly 
familiar.  The  scenes  of  these  excellent  stories  are  along  the  Florida 
coast  and  on  the  western  prairies. 

Canoe  and  Camp  Fire  Chums  of  the  Prairie 

Paddling  Under  Palmettos  Young  Kange  Kiders 

Rival  Canoe  Boys  Gulf  Cruisers 

Sunset  Kanch  Shifting  "Winds 


ARTHUR  SBWEI.lv. 

An  American  story  by  an  American  author.  It  relates  how  a 
Yankee  boy  overcame  many  obstacles  in  school  and  out.  Thoroughly 
interesting  from  start  to  finish. 

Gay  Dashleigh's  Academy  Days 


DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(vi) 


CAPT.  DAVID  SOUTHWICK. 

An  exceptionally  good  story  of  frontier  life  among  the  Indians  in 
the  far  West,  during  the  early  settlement  period. 

Jack  "Wheeler 

The  Famous  Frank  Merriwell  Stories. 

HURT  I,.  STAXDISH. 

No  modern  series  of  tales  for  boys  and  youths  has  met  with  any- 
thing like  the  cordial  reception  and  popularity  accorded  to  the  Frank 
Merriwell  Stories.  There  must  be  a  reason  for  this  and  there  is. 
Frank  Merriwell,  as  portrayed  by  the  author,  is  a  jolly  whole-souled, 
honest,  courageous  American  lad,  who  appeals  to  the  hearts  of  the 
boys.  He  has  no  bad  habits,  and  his  manliness  inculcates  the  idea 
that  it  is  not  necessary  for  a  boy  to  indulge  in  petty  vices  to  be  a  hero. 
Frank  Merriwell' s  example  is  a  shining  light  for  every  ambitious  lad 
to  follow.  Twenty  volumes  now  ready : 

Prank  Merriwell's  School  Days     Frank  Merriwell's  Courage 
Frank  Merriwell's  Chums  Frank  Merriwell's  Daring 

Frank  Merriwell's  Foes  Frank  Merriwell's  Skill 

Frank  Merriwell's  Trip  West         Frank  Merriwell's  Champions 
Frank  Merriwell  Down  South        Frank  Merriwell's  Keturn  to  Yale 
Frank  Merriwell's  Bravery  Frank  MerriwelPs  Secret 

Frank  Merriwell's  Kaces  Frank  Merriwell's  Loyalty 

Frank  Merriwell's  Hunting  Tour  Frank  Merriwell's  Beward 
Frank  MerriwelPs  Sports  Afield   Frank  Merriwell's  Faith 
Frank  Merriwell  at  Yale  Frank  Merriwell's  Victories 

VICTOR.  ST.  CI.AIR. 

These  books  are  full  of  good,  clean  adventure,  thrilling  enough  to 
please  the  full-blooded  wide-awake  boy,  yet  containing  nothing  to 
which  there  can  be  any  objection  from  those  who  are  careful  as  to  the 
kind  of  books  they  put  into  the  hands  of  the  young. 

Cast  Away  in  the  Jungle  From  Switch  to  Lever 

Comrades  Under  Castro  Little  Snap,  the  Post  Boy 

For  Home  and  Honor  Zig-Zag,  the  Boy  Conjurer 

Zip,  the  Acrobat 

MATTHEW  WHITE,  JR. 

Good,  healthy,  strong  books  for  the  American  lad.  No  more  in- 
teresting books  for  the  young  appear  on  our  lists. 

Adventures  of  a  Young  Athlete  My  Mysterious   Fortune 

Eric  Dane  Tour  of  a  Private  Car 

Guy  Hammersley  Young  Editor,  The 

DAVTD  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(vii) 


ARTHUR 

One  of  the  most  popular  authors  of  boys'  books.     Here  are  three 
of  his  best. 

Wlark  Dale's  Stage  Venture  Young  Bank  Clerk,  The 

Young  Bridge  Tender,  The 

GAYUE  WUVXERTCW. 


This  very  interesting  story  relates  the  trials  and  triumphs  of 
Young  American  Actor,   including  the  solution  of  a  very  puzzlii 


a 

very  puzzling 
mystery. 

Young  Actor,  The 


A.  YOUNG. 

This  book  is  not  a  treatise  on  sports,  as  the  title  would  indicate,  but 
relates  a  series  of  thrilling  adventures  among  boy  campers  in  the 
woods  of  Maine. 

Boats,  Bats  and  Bicycles 

DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(viii) 


PI5SS7 


